PEOPLE  I  HAYE  MET ; 


OR 


PICTURES  OF  SOCIETY  AND  PEOPLE  OF  MARK, 


DRAWN    UNDER    A    THTN    VEIL    OF    FICTION. 


BY   N,   PARKER   WILLIS, 


NEW  YORK  : 
BAKER    AND    SCRIBNER, 

145    NASSAU    STREET    AND    36    PARK    ROW. 
1850. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  T>y 

BAKER    AND    SCRIBNER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  Y.orfe . 


Stereotyped  by 

C.    W .    BENEDICT, 
£01  William  street. 


PREFACE. 

REAL  life  is  not  as  commonplace  as  it  is  represented.  The 
contrasts,  surprises,  combinations,  and  novel  situations,  which 
some  say  "  are  only  found  in  plays,"  occur  in  every  day  society 
— with  the  difference,  that  those  in  a  play  are  published  to  the 
world,  while  those  in  private  life  are  known  only  to  one  or  two. 
The  dread  of  misrepresentation  conceals  from  us  most  of  the  ma 
chinery  of  life,  and  all  of  its  most  wonderful  occurrences,  except 
now  and  then  one  that  is  disclosed  by  accident.  He  who  fancies 
that  he  sees  all  that  is  dramatic,  even  in  the  circle  where  he  is 
most  intimate,  is  like  a  deaf  and  blind  man  unconsciously  present 
at  a  play. 

There  is,  of  course,  great  difference  in  the  power  of  observa 
tion — some  men  seeing  less  than  seems  natural,  and  others  more 
than  would  be  thought  possible — but  the  most  common  observer 
has  only  to  allow  every  other  man  to  know  as  many  surprising  things 
as  himself,  (which  few  would,  at  first  thought,  allow,)  and  he  will 

M  4778 


PREFACE. 


easily  understand  how  the  sum  total  fills  the  world  with  invisible 
dramas.  Little  we  know  what  the  heart  is  busy  with,  while  the 
lips  are  phrasing  for  us  the  small  talk  of  the  day  !  Little  we 
dream  what  we  interrupt  or  further — precede  or  follow — help  to 
forget  or  while  away  the  time  for.  Few  are  only  about  what  they 
seem  to  be  about,  or  are  only  what  they  seem  to  be. 

The  freedom  to  draw  truly,  in  fiction,  gives  a  fidelity  to  por 
traitures  in  a  story,  which  would  be  almost  impossible  even  in  a 
literal  biography.  The  most  common  man's  exact  and  entire 
impression  of  any  one  whom  he  knows,  would  read  like  a  passage 
of  Shakspeare — because  Shakspeare's  power  of  description  con 
sists,  not  in  the  coloring  of  his  imagination,  but  in  his  utter 
fidelity  to  nature.  Between  what  we  have  seen  ourselves,  and  the 
same  thing  verbally  described  to  us  by  others,  there  is  often  little 
or  no  resemblance,  because,  from  various  influences  which  do  not 
affect  a  professedly  fictitious  description,  the  describer  wavers 
from  the  truth. 

It  is  not  from  his  imagination,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  but 
from  his  store  of  private  observation  and  knowledge,  that  the 
author  draws  his  most  effective  pictures  of  character  and  human 
event.  The  names  may  be  fictitious,  the  scenery  and  circum 
stances  ideal,  the  personages  painted  from  fancy,  but  the  motive  of 
the  story  is  true — the  mainspring  of  feeling  which  it  developes  was 
a  mystery  that  could  not  otherwise  be  told — the  lesson  that  the  au 
thor  teaches  in  words  to  many  was  first  taught  by  actual  occur- 


PREEACE. 


rences  to  himself.  No  one  who  is  conversant  with  authors,  for  in 
stance,  could  doubt,  that,  in  Bulwer's  novels,  under  merely  such 
disguises  as  make  identification  impossible,  are  embodied  all  his 
own  experiences  of  feeling,  and  all  that  he  has  learned,  of  human 
vicissitude  and  conduct,  by  access  to  the  inner  life  of  those  about 
him.  Does  any  one  suppose  that  there  is  one,  among  the  wo 
men  he  has  loved,  who  cannot  find,  in  his  books,  the  picture  of 
herself, — of  her  heart  as  he  read  it — and  the  record,  in  truth's 
most  accurate  light  and  shade,  of  all  that  was  worth  remember 
ing  between  them  ? 

It  is  in  the  memory  of  authors  alone,  that  these  vivid  and  best 
lessons,  in  the  knowledge  of  human  nature — the  lessons  of  expe 
rience  and  personal  observation — are  sown,  not  buried.  The  ex 
hibition  of  character  contained  in  the  under-currents  of  life — in  an 
undisclosed  conflict,  trial,  temptation,  affection  or  passion — is,  when 
stripped  of  its  names  and  circumstances,  no  more  recognizable  than 
the  particular  tree  by  its  seed.  The  author  plants  it  in  another  soil, 
reproduces  it  in  another  shape  and  with  other  leaves  and  branches  ; 
and,  though  the  new  story  has  all  the  essential  qualities  of  the  pang 
or  pleasure  from  which  it  is  drawn,  its  origin  is  untraceable.  It  is 
one  of  the  rewards  of  the  over-envied  and  under-paid  profession  of 
literature,  that  the  world  is  led  unaware  through  the  author's 
heart,  and  sympathizes  with  all  that  has  moved  him.  To  the 
hidden  qualities  he  has  found  and  loved,  he  brings  thousands,  to 
add  their  homage  also.  For  a  fine  action  that  could  not  other- 


viii  PREFACE. 


wise  be  told,  for  a  generous  self  sacrifice  made  in  secret,  for  pangs 
and  trials  unconfessed,  for  all  the  deep  drama  of  private  life,  play 
ed  discouragingly  to  the  appreciation  of  the  few  and  un-applauding, 
he  can  secure  a  tribute,  which  the  actors  alone  identify ;  though 
its  applause,  of  the  heart  unnamed,  is  as  universal  as  it  is  unpro- 
faning  and  grateful. 

There  is  more  or  less  of  truth,  the  author  of  the  following  pages 
may,  perhaps,  as  well  say,  in  all  the  stories  he  has  written.  In  a 
world  sown  so  thickly  with  surprises  and  exceptions  to  general 
rules,  one  has  little  need  to  draw  on  his  imagination  for  a  theme. 
Having  suffered,  however,  from  erroneous  applications  of  some  of 
these  descriptions  to  individuals,  he  takes  this  opportunity  to  state, 
that  by  character  alone,  (which  has  been  an  open  field  to  writers  since 
writing  began,)  and  not  by  true  circumstances,  names,  or  histories 
of  private  life,  is  any  portion  of  the  ridicule  or  censure  in  this 
volume,  applicable  or  traceable.  The  greater  number  of  its 
stories  embody  such  passages,  in  the  personal  history  of  the  emi 
nent  men  and  women  of  Europe,  as  the  author  came  to  the 
knowledge  of,  by  conversance  with  the  circles  in  which  they 
moved — portions  of  the  inner  life  which  is  seen  so  imperfectly  by  ob 
servers  from  without — lights  and  shadows,  which  in  their  life-time, 
at  least,  could  not  be  used  for  their  individual  biography,  but  which 
are  invaluable  as  aids  to  the  general  portraiture  of  genius.  In 
revealing  thus  what  has  impressed  and  interested  him,  the  author 
has  the  pleasure,  of  course,  of  so  far  sharing  his  secrets  with  the 


PREFACE. 


reader  ;  but  the  reader  will  remember,  that,  like  the  visitor  to 
the  robber's  cave,  in  the  Eastern  story,  he  is  brought  in,  and 
taken  out,  blindfold — and,  of  what  he  has  seen,  he  can  reveal 
nothing. 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 


CONTENTS. 


A  REVELATION  OF  A  PREVIOUS  LIFE. 

Phenomena  of  Consciousness — The  Listening  Lady — The  Dead  Re 
vived—Spirit  Love-Letter,  .  1-9 

THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE. 

Coffee  after  Dinner — Alone  with  Ladies — Self-Recal — Need  of  a 
Horse— Breakfast  Invitation — A  Stolen  Advantage — A  Horse- 
Stealer — A  Proposal — Premonitions — Visible  to  Another — Daugh 
ter  Disowned — Conditional  Challenge,  .  .  .  10-35 

GETTING    TO   WINDWARD. 

London  Chop  House — First  Step  in  Poverty — Treasured  Insult — 
Near  Mysteries — Truth  in  Love  Scenes — A  Widow's  Proposal — 
Revenge  Stronger  than  Love— Value  of  Attained  Objects,  36-62 

TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL. 

Practical  Love — Love  or  Wealth — Art  Foregone — Painters'  Privi 
leges — Style  in  a  Man — Change  in  a  Lover — Preparations — The 
F6te— Bitter  Prosperity— End  Lost  in  the  Means,  53-73 


xii  CONTENTS. 


LIGHT  VERVAIN. 

Tribute  to  an  old  Love — Ingratitude — A  Love  Letter — Re-consider 
ed  Love — Chivalry  of  Politeness,  .  »  .  »  74-84 

BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S. 

Facile  Manners — Delivering  a  Letter — Arrival  to  Dine — Unfortu 
nate  Invitation — Secret  Information — Recognitions— Tickets  to 
Almack's,  .  .  ..,.,-  .  .  *  85-99 

MR.  AND  MRS.  FOLLETT. 
Advice— Jealousy — Dressed  or  Not — Counter  Flirtation,      .        100-109 

LADY  RAVELGOLD. 

Lady  Visit  to  a  Banker — What  was  to  be  the  Equivalent — An  Aris 
tocratic  Fete — A  Falcon  Flight — Approaching  a  Secret — Love  at 
First  Sight— A  Lady  Favor— Fire  Works— Tickets  to  Almack's— 
English  Beauty — Jealousy — A  Revelation — An  Aristocratic  Bou 
doir — Change  of  Relation — Supper  with  Mother  and  Daughter — 
A  Wound— A  Quarrel— A  Wedding  instead  of  a  Duel,  .  110-146 

KATE   CREDIFORD. 

First  Sad  Look — The  Hand  in  Love— Old  Love  New  Born — Meaning 
in  a  Cause,  .  .  .'  .  •'  -: .  •  .  146-155 

BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING. 

A  Wedding  Party — Called  to  Account — A  Wife  Proposed — Mental 
History  of  a  Beau— Bringing  Lovers  Together— Tactics— A  Dog 
for  a  Good  Angel,  .  >  .  156-170 


CONTENTS.  xui 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASINa. 

Quarantine  Pastime— Compulsory  Travel— Love  in  Convalescence — 
Contagious  Excitement — An  Involuntary  Chase — Dangerous — The 
way  Hearts  Break,  .  ...  170-188 

THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL. 

Stealing  a  Portrait— A  Stolen  Portrait— A  Slight— Secrets  of  a 
Palace — An  Aristocratic  Angel — Use  of  a  Portrait — A  Palace  Re 
vel — Weak  Door  to  a  Heart — Nearing  his  Object — Love  at  Court 
— Soiree  on  Wheels— Power  at  Court— Effects  of  Italy  on  Love- 
Vain  Obstacle — Italian  Love — Retribution — Revelation  of  Reasons 
—A  Woman's  Downfall,  .  .  188-227 

LOVE   AND  DIPLOMACY. 

Fatal  Accident  and  Love— Master  and  Man— Serving  a  Rival— The 
New  Ambassador — A  Surprise,  ....  228-239 

THE  MAD-HOUSE  OF  PALERMO. 

Interesting  Visitor — Baked  Monks — Pleasure  Hospital  for  the  In 
sane — Story  of  a  Maniac  Girl — Love  for  a  Cure — A  Lunatic  Wed 
ding— The  Effect,  240-265 

AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS. 

Preparations— On  Dress  at  Home— Be  Seen  Writing— The  Husband 
— Love,  of  Some  Sort — Dramatic  Stock-Broker — The  Snedens — 
Aristocratic  Reliances— An  Angel's  Plea,  .  .  .  256-276 

THE  ICY  VEIL. 

Suppressed  Recognition — Errand  Hither — A  Secret  Home — A  Lux 
ury—Value  of  High  Life— Secrets  of  Pride— A  Painter's  Error- 
Strange  Love  Letter — Jessonda — Prophetic  Parting — Revela 
tion,  277-298 


Xiv  CONTENTS. 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS. 

The  Astor  House — Engagement  to  Marry— Good  Will  of  Milliners — 
Love  Begun— Belle  a-Haying— Right  at  Last,  .  .  299-313 

THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES. 

Servant  for  Love— Economy  in  Italy — Cheap  Trip — Cholera  out  of 
Place — Cholera  in  a  Carriage— Toddies  for  Cholera — After  such 
Services— The  Revelation,  .  .  .  :  .  314-331 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK. 


MRS.  VERB,            .           .  .           ,                       .332 

MISS  AYMAR,  OF  NEW  YORK,  .           .           .           .        .337 

FANNY  TRELLINGER,      .            .  .           .;       ,.           .        340 

MRS.  LETTRELL,      .           ..       -.  .                       .            .     345 

HOPE  CHASMAR,                          .  .                                    .350 

JENNY  EVELAND,  .    354 


A  REVELATION  OF  A  PREVIOUS  LIFE, 


"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting. 

The  soul  that  rises  in  us,  our  life's  star, 
Has  had  elsewhere  it's  setting, 

And  cometh  from  afar."— WORDSWORTH. 


THE  death  of  a  lady,  in  a  foreign  land,  leaves  me  at  liberty  to 
narrate  the  circumstances  which  follow. 

A  few  words  of  previous  explanation,  however. 

I  am  inclined  to  believe,  from  conversations  on  the  subject  with 
many  sensible  persons,  that  there  are  few  men  who  have  not  had, 
at  different  intervals  in  their  lives,  sudden  emotions,  currents  of 
thought,  affections  of  mind  and  body,  which  not  only  were  wholly 
disconnected  with  the  course  of  life  thus  interrupted,  but  seemed 
to  belong  to  a  wholly  different  being. 

Perhaps  I  shall  somewhere  touch  the  reader's  experience  by 
describing  rather  minutely,  and  in  the  first  person,  some  sensa 
tions  of  this  kind  not  unusual  to  myself. 

Walking  in  a  crowded  street,  for  example,  in  perfect  health, 
with  every  faculty  gayly  alive,  I  suddenly  lose  the  sense  of  neigh 
borhood.  I  see — I  hear — but  I  feel  as  if  I  had  become  invisible 

where  I  stand,  and  were,  at  the  same  time,  present  and  visible 

1 


2'  .  I'lil^OMEN-A.Q?  CONSCIOUSNESS. 


elsewhere.  I  know  everything  that  passes  around  me,  but  I  seem 
disconnected  and  (magnetically  speaking)  unlinked  from  the 
human  beings  near.  If  spoken  to  at  such  a  moment,  I  answer 
with  difficulty.  The  person  who  speaks  seems  addressing  me 
from  a  world  to  which  I  no  longer  belong.  At  the  same  time,  I 
have  an  irresistible  inner  consciousness  of  being  present  in  another 
scene  of  every-day  life — where  there  are  streets,  and  houses,  and 
people — where  I  am  looked  on  without  surprise  as  a  familiar 
object — where  I  have  cares,  fears,  objects  to  attain — a  different 
scene  altogether,  and  a  different  life,  from  the  scene  and  life  of 
which  I  was  a  moment  before  conscious.  I  have  a  dull  ache  at 
the  back  of  my  eyes  for  the  minute  or  two  that  this  trance  lasts, 
and  then,  slowly  and  reluctantly,  my  absent  soul  seems  creeping 
back,  the  magnetic  links  of  conscious  neighborhood,  one  by  one, 
re-attach,  and  I  resume  my  ordinary  life,  but  with  an  irrepressible 
feeling  of  sadness. 

It  is  in  vain  that  I  try  to  fix  these  shadows  as  they  recede.  I 
have  struggled  a  thousand  times,  in  vain,  to  particularize  and  note 
down  what  I  saw  in  the  strange  city  to  which  I  was  translated. 
The  memory  glides  from  my  grasp  with  preternatural  evasiveness. 

In  a  book  called  "  The  Man  of  Two  Lives,"  similar  sensations 
to  these  are  made  the  basis  of  the  story.  Indeed,  till  I  saw  that 
book,  the  fear  of  having  my  sanity  suspected  sealed  my  lips  on 
the  subject. 

I  have  still  a  reserve  in  my  confession.  I  have  been  conscious, 
since  boyhood,  of  a  mental  peculiarity  which  I  fear  to  name  while 
I  doubt  that  it  is  possessed  by  others  than  myself — which  I  should 
not  allude  to  now,  but  that  it  forms  a  strange  link  of  identity 
between  me  and  another  being  to  be  mentioned  in  this  story. 

I  may  say,  also,  without  attaching  any  importance  to  it,  except 


A  REVELATION  OF  A  PREVIOUS  LIFE. 


as  it  bears  upon  this  same  identity,  that,  of  those  things  which  I 
have  no  occasion  to  be  taught,  or  which  I  did,  as  the  common 
phrase  is,  by  intuition,  drawing  was  the  easiest  and  most  passion 
ately  followed  of  my  boyish  pursuits. 

With  these  preliminaries,  and  probably  some  similar  experience 
of  his  own,  the  reader  may  happily  form  a  woof  on  which  to 
embroider  the  following  circumstances. 

Travelling  through  Styria,  some  years  since,  I  chanced  to  have, 
for  a  fellow-occupant  of  the  coupe  of  a  diligence,  a  very  courteous 
and  well-bred  person,  a  gentleman  of  Gratz.  As  we  rolled  slowly 
along,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mucr,  approaching  his  native  town,  he 
very  kindly  invited  me  to  remain  with  him  a  day  or  two,  offering 
me,  as  an  inducement,  a  presentation  at  the  soiree  of  a  certain 
lady  of  consequence,  who  was  to  receive,  on  the  night  of  our 
arrival,  and  at  whose  house  I  should  see,  some  fair  specimens  of 
the  beauty  of  Styria. 
Accepted. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer's  night,  when  we  strolled  through  the 
principal  street  toward  our  gay  destination,  and,  as  I  drew  upon 
my  friend's  arm  to  stop  him  while  the  military  band  of  the  fortress 
finished  a  delicious  waltz  (they  were  playing  in  the  public  square), 
he  pointed  out  to  me  the  spacious  balconies  of  the  countess's 
palace,  whither  we  were  going,  crowded  with  the  well-dressed 
company,  listening  silently  to  the  same  enchanting  music.  We 
entered,  and,  after  an  interchange  of  compliments  with  the  hostess, 
I  availed  myself  of  my  friend's  second  introduction  to  take  a  stand 
in  one  of  the  balconies,  beside  the  person  I  was  presented  to,  and 
under  cover  of  her  favor,  to  hear  out  the  unfinished  music  of  the 
band. 

As  the  evening  darkened,  the  lights  gleamed  out  from  the 


4  THE  LISTENING  LADY. 

illuminated  rooms  more  brightly,  and  most  of  the  guests  deserted 
the  balconies  and  joined  the  gayer  circles  within.  The  music 
ceased  at  the  beat  of  the  drum.  My  companion  in  the  balcony 
was  a  very  quiet  young  lady,  and,  like  myself,  she  seemed  sub 
dued  by  the  sweet  harmonies  we  had  listened  to,  and  willing  to 
remain  without  the  shadow  of  the  curtain.  We  were  not  alone 
there,  however.  A  tall  lady,  of  very  stately  presence,  and  with 
the  remains  of  remarkable  beauty,  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  balcony,  and  she,  too,  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  glare  within, 
and  cling  to  the  dewy  darkness  of  the  summer  night. 

After  the  cessation  of  the  music,  there  was  no  longer  an  excuse 
for  intermittent  conversation,  and,  starting  a  subject  which 
afforded  rather  freer  scope,  I  did  my  best  to  credit  my  friend's 
flattering  introduction.  I  had  discoursed  away  for  half  an  hour 
very  unreservedly,  before  I  discovered  that,  with  her  hand  upon 
her  side,  in  an  attitude  of  repressed  emotion,  the  tall  lady  was 
earnestly  listening  to  me.  A  third  person  embarrasses  even  the  most 
indifferent  dialogue.  The  conversation  languished,  and  my  com 
panion  rose  and  took  my  arm  for  a  promenade  through  the  rooms. 

Later  in  the  evening,  my  friend  came  in  search  of  me  to  the 
supper-room. 

"  Mon  ami  /"  he  said,  "  a  great  honor  has  fallen  out  of  the 
sky  for  you.  I  am  sent  to  bring  you  to  the  beau  reste  of  the 

handsomest  woman  of  Styria — Margaret,  Baroness  R ,  whose 

chateau  I  pointed  out  to  you  in  the  gold  light  of  yesterday's  sun 
set.  She  wishes  to  know  you — why  I  cannot  wholly  divine — for 
it  is  the  first  sign  of  ordinary  feeling  that  she  has  given  in  twenty 
years.  But  she  seems  agitated,  and  sits  alone  in  the  countess's 
boudoir.  Atton-s-y  /" 

As  we  made  our  way  through  the  crowd,  he  hastily  sketched 


A  REVELATION  OF  A  PREVIOUS  LIFE. 


me  an  outline  of  the  lady's  history  :  "  At  seventeen,  taken  from  a 
convent  for  a  forced  marriage  with  the  baron  whose  name  she 
bears  ;  at  eighteen,  a  widow,  and,  for  the  first  time,  in  love — the 
subject  of  her  passion  a  young  artist  of  Vienna  on  his  way  to 
Italy.  The  artist  died  at  her  chateau — they  were  to  have  been 
married — she  has  ever  since  worn  weeds  for  him.  And  the 
remainder  you  must  imagine — for  here  we  are  !" 

The  baroness  leaned  with  her  elbow  upon  a  small  table  of  or 
molu,  and  her  position  was  so  taken  that  I  seated  myself  neces 
sarily  in  a  strong  light,  while  her  features  were  in  shadow.  Still, 
the  light  was  sufficient  to  show  me  the  expression  of  her  coun 
tenance.  She  was  a  woman  apparently  about  forty-five,  of  noble 
physiognomy,  and  a  peculiar  fulness  of  the  eyelid — something  like 
to  which,  I  thought  I  remembered  to  have  seen,  in  a  portrait 
of  a  young  girl,  many  years  before.  The  resemblance  troubled 
me  somewhat. 

"  You  will  pardon  me  this  freedom,''  said  the  baroness  with 
forced  composure,  "  when  I  tell  you  that — a  friend — whom  I 
have  mourned  twenty-five  years — seems  present  to  me  when  you 
speak." 

I  was  silent,  for  I  knew  not  what  to  say.  The  baroness  shaded 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  gazing 


at  me. 

a 


You  arc  not  like  him  in  a  single  feature,"  she  resumed,  "yet 
the  expression  of  your  face,  strangely,  very  strangely,  is  the  same. 
He  was  darker — slighter"— 

"  Of  my  age  r"  I  inquired,  to  break  my  own  silence.  For 
there  was  something  in  her  voice  which  gave  me  the  sensation  of 
a  voice  heard  in  a  dream. 

"  Oh,  God  !  that  voice  !  that  voice  !"  she  exclaimed  wildly, 


6  THE  DEAD  IlEVIVED. 


burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  giving  way  to  a  passionate 
burst  of  tears. 

"  Rodolph,"  she  resumed,  recovering  herself  with  a  strong 
effort,  "  Rodolph  died  with  the  promise  on  his  lips  that  death 
should  not  divide  us.  And  I  have  seen  him  !  Not  in  dreams — 
not  in  revery — not  at  times  when  my  fancy  could  delude  me.  I 
have  seen  him  suddenly  before  me  in  the  street — in  Vienna — 
here — at  home  at  noonday — for  minutes  together,  gazing  on  me. 
It  is  more  in  latter  years  that  I  have  been  visited  by  him  ;  and  a 
hope  has  latterly  sprung  into  being  in  my  heart — I  know  not 
how — that  in  person,  palpable  and  breathing,  I  should  again  hold 
converse  with  him — fold  him  living  to  my  bosom.  Pardon  me  ! 
You  will  think  me  mad  !" 

I  might  well  pardon  her ;  for,  as  she  talked,  a  vague  sense  of 
familiarity  with  her  voice,  a  memory,  powerful,  though  indistinct, 
of  having  before  dwelt  on  those  majestic  features,  an  impulse  of 
tearful  passionateness  to  rush  to  her  embrace,  well  nigh  over 
powered  me.  She  turned  to  me  again. 

"  You  are  an  artist  ?"  she  said,  inquiringly. 

"  No  ;  though  intended  for  one,  I  believe,  by  nature." 

"  And  you  were  born  in  the  year ." 

"I  was!" 

With  a  scream  she  added  the  day  of  my  birth,  and  waiting  an 
instant  for  my  assent,  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  clung  convulsively 
and  weeping  to  my  knees. 

"  Rodolph !  Rodolph !"  she  murmured  faintly,  as  her  long 
grey  tresses  fell  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  head  dropped  insen 
sible  upon  her  breast. 

Her  cry  had  been  heard,  and  several  persons  entered  the  room 
I  rushed  out  of  doors.     I  had  need  to  be  in  darkness  and  alone. 


A  REVELATION  OF  A  PREVIOUS  LIFE. 


It  was  an  hour  after  midnight  when  I  re-entered  my  hotel.  A 
chasseur  stood  sentry  at  the  door  of  my  apartment  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand.  He  called  me  by  name,  gave  me  his  missive,  and 
disappeared.  It  was  from  the  baroness,  and  ran  thus  : 

"  You  did  not  retire  from  me  to  sleep.  This  letter  will  find 
you  waking.  And  I  must  write,  for  my  heart  and  brain  are  over 
flowing. 

"  Shall  I  write  to  you  as  a  stranger  ? — you  whom  I  have 
strained  so  often  to  my  bosom — you  whom  I  have  loved  and  still 
love  with  the  utmost  idolatry  of  mortal  passion — you  who  have 
once  given  me  the  soul  that,  like  a  gem  long  lost,  is  found  again, 
but  in  a  newer  casket !  Mine  still — for  did  we  not  swear  to  love 
for  ever  ! 

"  But  I  am  taking  counsel  of  my  own  heart  only.  You  may 
still  be  unconvinced.  You  may  think  that  a  few  singular  coin 
cidences  have  driven  me  mad.  You  may  think  that,  though  born 
in  the  same  hour  that  my  Rodolph  died,  possessing  the  same 
voice,  the  same  countenance,  the  same  gifts — though  by  irresist 
ible  consciousness  I  know  you  to  be  him — my  lost  lover  returned 
in  another  body  to  life — you  may  still  think  the  evidence  incom 
plete — you  may,  perhaps,  even  now,  be  smiling  in  pity  at  my 
delusion.  Indulge  me  one  moment. 

"  The  Rodolph  Isenberg  whom  I  lost,  possessed  a  faculty  of 

mind,  which,  if  you  are  he,  answers  with  the  voice  of  an  angel  to 

my  appeal.     In  that  soul  resided,  and  wherever  it  be,  must  now 

reside,  the  singular  power  "          *          **-%#* 

*  *  *  *  #  #  * 

(The  reader  must  be  content  with  my  omission  of  this  frag 
ment  of  the  letter.  It  contained  a  secret  never  before  clothed  in 
language — a  soerot  that  will  rlio  with  me,  unless  betrayed  by  what. 


8  SPIRIT  LOVE-LETTER. 

indeed  it  may  lead  to — madness  !  As  I  saw  it  in  writing — defined 
accurately  and  inevitably  in  the  words  of  another — I  felt  as  if  the 
innermost  chamber  of  my  soul  was  suddenly  laid  open  to  the 
day — I  abandoned  doubt — I  answered  to  the  name  by  which  she 
called  me — I  believed  in  the  previous  existence  of  which  my  whole 
life,  no  less  than  these  extraordinary  circumstances,  had  furnished 
me  with  repeated  evidence.  But,  to  resume  the  letter.) 

"  And  now  that  we  know  each  other  again — now  that  I  can 
call  you  by  name,  as  in  the  past,  and  be  sure  that  your  inmost 
consciousness  must  reply — a  new  terror  seizes  me  !  Your  soul 
comes  back,  youthfully  and  newly  clad,  while  mine,  though  of 
unfading  freshness  and  youthfulness  within,  shows  to  your  eye 
the  same  outer  garment,  grown  dull  with  mourning  and  faded 
with  the  wear  of  time.  Am  I  grown  distasteful  ?  Is  it  with  the 
sight  only  of  this  new  body  that  you  look  upon  me  ?  Rodolph  ! 
— spirit  that  was  my  devoted  and  passionate  admirer  !  soul  that 
was  sworn  to  me  for  ever ! — am  I — the  same  Margaret,  refound 
and  recognised,  grown  repulsive  ?  Oh  God !  What  a  bitter 
answer  would  this  be  to  my  prayers  for  your  return  to  me  ! 

"  I  will  trust  in  Him  whose  benign  goodness  smiles  upon 
fidelity  in  love.  I  will  prepare  a  fitter  meeting  for  two  who 
parted  as  lovers.  You  shall  not  see  me  again  in  the  house  of  a 
stranger  and  in  a  mourning  attire.  When  this  letter  is  written, 
I  will  depart  at  once  for  the  scene  of  our  love.  I  hear  my  horses 
already  in  the  court-yard,  and  while  you  read  this  I  am  speeding 
swiftly  home.  The  bridal  dress  you  were  secretly  shown,  the 
day  before  death  came  between  us,  is  still  freshly  kept.  The 
room  where  we  sat — the  bowers  by  the  streams — the  walks  where 
we  projected  our  sweet  promise  of  a  future — they  shall  all  be 
made  ready.  They  shall  be  as  they  were  !  And  T — oh  Rodolph, 


A  REVELATION  OF  A  PREVIOUS  LIFE. 


I  shall  be  the  same  !  My  heart  is  not  grown  old,  Rodolph ! 
Believe  me,  I  am  unchanged  in  soul !  And  I  will  strive  to  be — 
I  will  strive  to  look — God  help  me  to  look  and  be — as  of  yore  ! 

li  Farewell  now  !  I  leave  horses  and  servants  to  wait  on  you 
till  I  send  to  bring  you  to  me.  Alas,  for  any  delay  !  but  we  will 
pass  this  life  and  all  other  time  together.  We  have  seen  that  a 
vow  of  eternal  union  may  be  kept — that  death  can  not  divide 
those  who  will  to  love  for  ever  !  Farewell  now  ! 

"  MARGARET." 

Circumstances  compelled  me  to  read  this  letter  with  but  one 
feeling — exquisite  pain  !  Love  lasts  till  death,  but  it  is  mortal ! 
The  affections,  however  intense  and  faithful  (I  now  know),  are 
part  of  the  perishable  coil,  forgotten  in  the  grave.  With  the 
memory  of  this  love  of  another  life,  haunting  me  through  my 
youth,  and  keeping  its  vow  of  visitation,  I  had  given  the  whole 
heart  of  my  second  youth  to  another.  Affianced  to  her,  waited 
for  by  her,  bound  to  her  by  vows  which  death  had  not  divided,  I 
had  but  one  course  to  pursue.  I  left  Gratz  in  an  hour,  never  to 
return. 

A  few  days  since  I  was  walking  alone  in  the  crowded  thorough 
fare  of  the  city  where  I  live.  Suddenly  my  sense  of  presence 
there  fell  off  me.  I  walked  on,  but  my  inward  sight  absorbed  all 
my  consciousness.  A  room  which  was  familiar  to  me  shut  me  in, 
and  a  bed  hung  in  mourning  became  apparent.  In  another 
instant  a  figure  laid  out  in  a  winding-sheet,  and  partially  covered 
with  a  velvet  pall,  grew  distinct  through  the  dimness,  and  in  the 
low-laid  head  I  recognised,  what  a  presentiment  had  already 

betrayed  to  me,  the  features  of  Margaret,  Baroness  R .  It 

will  be  still  months  before  I  can  see  the  announcement  of  her 

death.     But  she  is  dead. 
1* 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE, 


CHAPTER    I. 

SHOWING    THE    HUMILIATION    OF    THE    BARRIERS    OF    HIGH-LIFE. 

THERE  is  no  aristocracy  in  the  time  o'  niglit.  It  was  punc 
tually  ten  o'clock,  in  Berkeley  square.  It  rained  on  the  noble 
man's  roof.  It  rained  on  the  beggar's  head.  The  lamps,  for  all 
that  was  visible  except  themselves,  might  as  well  have  been  half 
way  to  the  moon,  but  even  that  was  not  particular  to  Berkeley 
square. 

A  hack  cabriolet  groped  in  from  Bruton  street. 

"  Shall  I  ring  any  bell  for  you,  sir  ? "  said  the  cabman,  pulling 
aside  the  wet  leather  curtain. 

"  No  !  I'll  get  out  anywhere  !     Pull  up  to  the  side-walk  !  " 

But  the  passenger's  mind  changed,  while  paying  his  shilling. 

"  On  second  thoughts,  my  good  fellow,  you  may  knock  at  tho 
large  door  on  the  right." 

The  driver  scrambled  up  the  high  steps  and  gave  a  single 
knock— such  a  knock  as  the  drivers  of  only  the  poor  and  un 
fashionable  are  expected  to  give,  in  well-regulated  England. 

The  door  was  opened  only  to  a  crack,  and  a  glittering  livery 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE. 


peered  through.  But  the  passenger  was  close  behind,  and  setting 
his  foot  against  the  door,  he  drove  back  the  suspicious  menial 
and  walked  in.  Three  men,  powdered  and  emblazoned  in  blue 
and  gold,  started  to  their  feet,  and  came  toward  the  apparent 
intruder.  He  took  the  wet  cap  from  his  head,  deliberately  flung 
his  well-worn  cloak  into  the  arms  of  the  nearest  man,  and  beck 
oning  to  another,  pointed  to  his  overshoes.  With  a  suppressed 
titter,  two  of  the  footmen  disappeared  through  a  side-door,  and 
the  third,  mumbling  something  about  sending  up  one  of  the  stable- 
boys,  turned  to  follow  them. 

The  new-comer's  hand  passed  suddenly  into  the  footman's 
white  cravat,  and,  by  a  powerful  and  sudden  throw,  the  man  was 
brought  to  his  knee. 

"  Oblige  me  by  unbuckling  that  shoe  !  "  said  the  stranger,  in 
a  tone  of  impertubable  coolness,  setting  his  foot  upon  the  upright 
knee  of  the  astonished  menial. 

The  shoe  was  taken  off,  and  the  other  set  in  its  place  upon  the 
plush-covered  leg,  and  unbuckled,  as  obediently. 

"  Keep  them  until  I  call  you  to  put  them  on  again  ! "  said  the 
wearer,  taking  his  gloves  from  his  pockets,  as  the  man  arose,  and 
slowly  walking  up  and  down  the  hall  while  he  drew  them 
leisurely  on. 

From  the  wet  and  muddy  overshoes  had  been  delivered  two 
slight  and  well-appointed  feet,  however,  shining  in  pliable  and 
unexceptionable  jet.  With  a  second  look,  and  the  foul-weather 
toggery  laid  aside,  the  humbled  footman  saw  that  he  had  been  in 
error,  and  that,  hack-cab  and  dirty  overshoes  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding,  the  economising  guest  of  "  my  lord ! "  would 
appear,  on  the  other  side  of  the  drawing-room  door,  only  at  home 
or  "  velvet  of  three  pile  "—an  elegant  of  undepreciable  water  ! 


12  COFFEE  AFTER  DINNER. 


"  Shall  I  announce  you,  sir  ? "  respectfully  inquired  the 
servant. 

"  If  Lord  Aymar  has  come  up  from  the  dinner  table — yes ! 
[f  the  ladies  are  alone — no  !  " 

"  Coffee  has  just  gone  in  to  the  ladies,  sir  !  " 

"  Then  I  '11  find  my  own  way  !  " 

Lady  Aymar  was  jamming  the  projecting  diamond  of  a  bracelet 
through  and  through  the  thick  white  leaf  of  an  Egyptian  kala, 
lost  apparently  in  an  eclipse  of  revery — possibly  in  a  swoon  of 
slumberous  digestion.  By  the  drawing-room  light,  in  her  negli 
gent  posture,  she  looked  of  a  ripeness  of  beauty  not  yet  sapped  by 
one  autumnal  minute — plump,  drowsy,  and  voluptuous.  She 
looked  up  as  the  door  opened. 

"  Spiridion  ! " 

"  Sappho ! " 

"  Don't  be  silly  ! " — how  are  you,  Count  Pallardos  ?  And  how 
like  a  ghost  you  come  in,  unannounced !  Suppose  I  had  been 
tying  my  shoe,  or  anything  ? " 

"  Is  your  ladyship  quite  well  ? " 

"  I  will  take  coffee  and  wake  up  to  tell  you !  Was  I  asleep 
when  you  opened  the  door  ?  They  were  all  so  dull  at  dinner. 
Ah  me  !  stupid  or  agreeable,  we  grow  old  all  the  same  !  How 
am  I  looking,  Spiridion  ? " 

"  Ravishingly  !     Where  is  Lady  Angelica  ? " 

"  Give  me  another  lump  of  sugar !  La !  don't  you  take 
coffee  ? " 

u  There  are  but  two  cups,  and  this  was  meant  for  a  lip  of  more 
celestial  earth — has  she  been  gone  long  ? " 

The  door  opened,  and  the  rustling  dress  of  Lady  Angelica 
Aymar  made  music  in  the  room.  Oh,  how  gloriously  beautiful 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.       13 


she  was,  and  how  changed  was  Count  Spiridion  Pallardos  by  her 
coming  in !  A  minute  before,  so  inconsequent,  so  careless  and 
complimentary — now  so  timid,  so  deferential,  so  almost  awkward 
in  every  motion ! 

The  name  of  "Greek  count"  has  been  for  a  long  time,  in 
Europe,  the  synonym  for  "  adventurer  " — a  worse  pendant  to  a 
man's  name,  in  high  life  at  least,  than  "pirate"  or  "robber." 
Not  that  a  man  is  peculiar  who  is  trying  to  make  the  most  out  of 
'society,  and  would  prefer  an  heiress  to  a  governess,  but  that  it  is 
a  disgrace  to  be  so  labelled  !  An  "  adventurer  "  is  the  same  as 
any  other  gentleman  who  is  not  rich,  only  without  a  mask. 

Count  Pallardos  was  lately  arrived  from  Constantinople,  and 
was  recognised  and  received  by  Lord  Aymar  as  the  son  of  a 
reduced  Greek  noble  who  had  been  the  dragoman  to  the  English 
embassy  when  his  lordship  was  ambassador  to  the  Porte.  With 
a  promptness  a  little  singular  in  one  whose  patronage  was  so 
difficult  to  secure,  Lord  Aymar  had  immediately  procured,  for  the 
son  of  his  old  dependent,  a  small  employment  as  translator  in  the 
Foreign  Office,  and,  with  its  most  limited  stipend  for  his  means, 
the  young  Count  had  commenced  his  experience  of  English  life 
His  acquaintance  with  the  ladies  of  Lord  Aymar's  family  was  two 
stages  in  advance  of  this,  however.  Lady  Aymar  remembered 
him  well  as  the  beautiful  child  of  the  lovely  Countess  Pallardos, 
the  playfellow  of  her  daughter  Angelica  on  the  shore  of  the  Bos- 
phorus ;  and  on  his  first  arrival  in  England,  hearing  that  the 
family  of  his  patron  was  on  the  coast  for  sea-bathing,  Spiridion 
had  prepared  to  report  himself  first  to  the  female  portion  of  it. 
Away  from  society,  in  a  retired  cottage,  ornee  upon  the  seashore, 
they  had  received  him  with  no  hinderance  to  their  appreciation  or 
hospitality ;  and  he  had  thus  been  subjected,  by  accident,  to  a 


14  ALONE  WITH  LADIES. 


month's  unshared  intoxication  with  the  beauty  of  the  Lady 
Angelica.  The  arrival  of  the  young  Greek  had  been  made  known 
to  Lord  Aymar  by  his  lady's  letters,  and  the  situation  had  been 
procured  for  him  ;  but  Pallardos  had  seen  his  lordship  but  once, 
and  this  was  his  first  visit  to  the  town  establishment  of  the 
family. 

The  butler  came  in  with  a  petit  verre  of  Curayoa  for  Miladi, 
and  was  not  surprised,  as  the  footmen  would  have  been,  to  see 
Lady  Angelica  on  her  knee,  and  Count  Pallardos  imprisoning  a 
japonica  in  the  knot  a  la  Grecque  of  that  head  of  Heaven's  most 
heavenly  moulding.  Brother  and  sister,  Cupid  and  Psyche, 
could  not  have  been  grouped  with  a  more  playful  familiarity. 

"  Spiridion  !  " — said  Lady  Aymar — "  I  shall  call  you  Spiridiou 
till  the  men  come  up — how  are  you  lodged,  my  dear  !  Have  you 
a  bath  in  your  dressing-room  ?  " 

"  Pitcher  and  bowl  of  the  purest  crockery,  my  dear  lady  ! 
May  I  venture  to  draw  this  braid  a  little  closer,  Angelica — to 
correct  the  line  of  this  raven  mass  on  your  cheek  ?  It  robs  us 
now  of  a  rose-leaf's  breadth  at  least — flat  burglary,  my  sweet 
friend ! " 

But  the  Lady  Angelica  sprang  to  her  feet,  for  a  voice  was 
heard  of  some  one  ascending  from  the  dining-room.  She  flung 
herself  into  a  dor  incuse,  Spiridion  twirled  his  two  fingers  at  the 
fire,  as  if  bodily  warmth  was  the  uppermost  necessity  of  the 
moment,  and  enter  Lord  Aymar,  followed  by  a  great  statesman, 
a  famous  poet,  one  sprig  of  unsurpassed  nobility,  and  one  wealthy 
dandy  commoner. 

Lord  Aymar  nodded  to  his  protege,  but  the  gentlemen  grouped 
themselves,  for  a  moment,  around  a  silver  easel,  upon  which 
stood  a  Correggio,  a  late  purchase  of  which  his  lordship  had  been 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.       15 


discoursing,  and,  in  that  minute  or  two,  the  name  and  quality  of 
the  stranger  were  communicated  to  the  party — probably,  for  they 
took  their  coffee  without  further  consciousness  of  his  presence. 

The  statesman  paired  off  to  a  corner  with  his  host  to  talk 
politics,  the  poet  took  the  punctured  flower  from  the  lap  of  Lady 
Ayinar,  and  commenced  mending,  with  patent  wax  wafers,  from 
the  ormolu  desk  near  by,  the  holes  in  the  white  leaves  ;  and  the 
two  ineffables  lingered  a  moment  longer  over  their  Curagoa. 

]?allardos  drew  a  chair  within  conversation-reach  of  Lady 
Angelica,  and  commenced  an  unskilful  discussion  of  the  opera  of 
the  night  before.  He  felt  angry,  insulted,  unseated  from  his  self- 
possession,  yet  he  could  not  have  told  why.  The  two  young  men 
lounged  leisurely  across  the  room,  and  the  careless  Lord  Fred 
erick  drew  his  chair  partly  between  Pallardos  and  Lady  Angelica, 
while  Mr.  Townley  Mynners  reclined  upon  an  ottoman  behind 
her,  and  brought  his  lips  within  whisper-shot  of  her  ear,  and, 
with  ease  and  unforced  nonsense,  not  audible  nor  intended  to  be 
audible  to  the  "  Greek  adventurer,"  they  inevitably  engrossed 
the  noble  beauty. 

The  blood  of  Count  Spiridion  ran  round  his  heart  like  a  snake 
coiled  to  strike.  He  turned  to  a  portfolio  of  drawings  for  a  cover 
to  self-control  and  self-communing,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  need 
of  summoning  his  keenest  and  coldest  judgment,  his  boldest  and 
wariest  courage  of  conduct  and  endurance,  to  submit  to,  and 
outnerve  and  overmaster,  his  humiliating  position.  He  was  under 
a  roof  of  which  he  well  knew  that  the  pride  and  joy  of  it,  the  fair 
Lady  Angelica,  the  daughter  of  the  proud  earl,  had  given  him  her 
heart.  He  well  knew  that  he  had  needed  reserve  and  manage 
ment  to  avoid  becoming  too  much  the  favorite  of  the  lady  mistress 
of  that  mansion  ;  yet,  in  it,  he  had  been  twice  insulted  grossly, 


16  SELF-REGAL. 


cuttingly,  but  in  both  cases  unresentably — once  by  unpunishable 
menials,  of  whom  he  could  not  even  complain  without  exposing 
and  degrading  himself,  and  once  by  the  supercilious  competitors 
for  the  heart  he  knew  was  his  own — and,  they  too,  unpunishable  ! 
At  this  moment,  at  a  sign  from  Lady  Aymar,  her  lord  swung 
open  the  door  of  a  conservatory  to  give  the  room  air,  and  the 
long  mirror,  set  in  the  panel,  showed  to  Spiridion  his  own  pale 
and  lowering  features.     He  thanked  Heaven  for   the    chance ! 
To  see  himself  once  more  was  what  he  bitterly  needed  ! — to  see 
whether  his  head  had  shrunk  between  his  shoulders — whether  his 
back  was  crouched — whether  his  eyes  and  lips  had  lost  their  fear 
lessness  and  pride  !     He  had  feared  so — felt  so  !     He  almost  won 
dered  that  he  did  not  look  like  a  dependent  and  a  slave  !     But  oh, 
no  !     The  large  mirror  showed  the  grouped  figures  of  the  drawing- 
room,  his  own  the  noblest  among  them  by  nature's  undeniable 
confession  !     His  clear,  statuary  outline  of  features — the  finely- 
cut  arches  of  his  lips — the  bold,  calm  darkness  of  his  passionate 
eyes — his  graceful  and  high-born  mien, — all  apparent  enough  to 
his  own  eye  when  seen  in  the  contrast  of  that  mirrored  picture — 
he  was  not  changed  ! — not  a  slave — not  metamorphosed  by  that 
hour's  humiliation  !     He  clenched  his  right  hand,  once,  till  the 
nails  were  driven  through  his  glove  into  the  clammy  palm,  and 
then  rose  with  a  soft  smile  on  his  features,  like  the  remainder  of 
a  look  of  pleasure. 

"  I  have  found,"  said  he,  in  a  composed  and  musical  tone, 
"  I  have  found  what  we  were  looking  for,  Lady  Angelica  ! " 

He  raised  the  large  portfolio  from  the  print-stand,  and  setting 
it  open  on  his  knee,  directly  between  Lord  Frederick  and  Lady 
Angelica,  cut  off  that  nobleman's  communication  with  her  lady 
ship  very  effectually,  while  he  pointed  out  a  view  of  the  Acropolis 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.       17 

at  Athens.  Her  ladyship  was  still  expressing  her  admiration  of 
the  drawing,  when  Spiridion  turned  to  the  astonished  gentleman 
at  her  ear. 

"  Perhaps,  sir,"  said  he,  "  in  a  lady's  service,  I  may  venture 
to  dispossess  you  of  that  ottoman  !  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
rise  ?  " 

With  a  stare  of  astonishment,  the  elegant  Mr.  Townley 
Mynners  reluctantly  complied;  and  Spiridion,  drawing  the 
ottoman  in  front  of  Lady  Angelica,  set  the  broad  portfolio  upon 
it,  and  seating  himself  at  her  feet  upon  the  outer  edge,  com 
menced  a  detailed  account  of  the  antiquities  of  the  grand  capitol 
The  lady  listened  with  an  amused  look  of  mischief  in  her  eye , 
Lord  Frederick  walked  once  around  her  chair,  humming  an  air 
very  rudely;  Mr.  Mynners  attempted  in  vain  to  call  Lady 
Angelica  to  look  at  something  wonderful  in  the  conservatory,  and 
Spiridion's  triumph  was  complete.  He  laid  aside  the  portfolio 
after  a  moment  or  two,  drew  the  ottoman  back  to  its  advantageous 
position,  and,  self-assured  and  at  his  ease,  engrossed  fully  and 
agreeably  the  attention  of  his  heart's  mistress. 

Half  an  hour  elapsed.  Lord  Aymar  took  a  kind  of  dismission 
attitude  before  the  fire,  and  the  guests  one  and  all  took  their 
leave.  They  were  all  cloaking  together  in  the  entry,  when  his 
lordship  leaned  over  the  bannister. 

"  Have  you  your  chariot,  Lord  Frederick  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes— it's  at  the  door  now  !  " 

"  Lady  Aymar  suggests  that  perhaps  you'll  set  down  Count 
Pallardos  on  your  way  !  " 

"  Why— ah,  certainly,  certainly  !  "  replied  Lord  Frederick, 
with  some  hesitation. 

"  My  thanks  to  Lady  Aymar,"  said  Spiridion,  very  quietly, 


18  NEED  OF  A  HORSE. 


u  but  say  to  her  ladyship  that  I  am  provided  with  overshoes  and 
umbrella  !  Shall  I  offer  your  lordship  half  of  the  latter  ?  "  added 
he  in  another  key,  leaning  with  cool  mock-earnestness  toward 
Lord  Frederick,  who  only  stared  a  reply  as  he  passed  out  to  his 
chariot. 

And  marvelling  who  would  undergo  such  humiliations  and  such 
antagonism  as  had  been  his  lot  that  evening,  for  anything  else 
than  the  love  of  a  Lady  Angelica,  Count  Spiridion  stepped  forth 
into  the  rain  to  group  his  way  to  his  obscure  lodgings  in  Parlia 
ment  street. 


CHAPTER    II. 

SHOWING  A  GENTLEMAN'S  NEED  OF  A  HORSE. 

IT  was  the  hour  when  the  sun  in  heaven  is  supposed  to  be  least 
promiscuous — the  hour  when  the  five  hundred  fashionables  of 
London  West-End  receive  his  visit  in  the  open  air,  to  the  entire 
exclusion  (it  is  presumed)  of  the  remaining  population  of  the 
globe.  The  cabs  and  jarveys,  the  vehicles  of  the  despised  public, 
rolled  past  the  forbidden  gate  of  Hyde  park,  and  the  echo 
stationed  in  the  arched  portal  announced  the  coroneted  carriages 
as  they  nicely  nibbled  the  pleased  gravel  in  passing  under.  A 
plebian  or  two  stood  outside  to  get  a  look  at  the  superior  beings 
whose  daily  list  of  company  to  dine  is  the  news  most  carefully 
furnished  to  the  instructed  public.  The  birds  (having  u  fine 
feathers  ")  flew  over  the  iron  railing,  unchallenged  by  the  gate 
keeper.  Four  o'clock  went  up  to  Heaven's  gate  with  the  souls 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.  19 

of  those  who  had  died  since  three,  and  with  the  hour's  report  of 
the  world's  sins  and  good  deeds ;  and,  at  the  same  moment,  a 
chariot  rolled  into  the  park,  holding  between  its  claret  panels  the 
embellished  flesh  and  blood  of  Lady  Aymar  and  her  incomparable 
daughter. 

A  group  of  gay  men  on  horseback  stood  at  the  bend  of 
"  Rotten  Row,"  watching  the  comers-in  ;  and  within  the  inner 
railing  of  the  park,  among  the  promenaders  on  foot,  was  dis 
tinguishable  the  slight  figure  of  Count  Pallardos,  pacing  to  and 
fro  with  step  somewhat  irregular.  As  Lady  Aymar 's  chariot 
went  by,  he  bowed  with  a  frank  and  ready  smile,  but  the  smile 
was  quickly  banished  by  a  flushed  cheek  and  lowering  brow,  for, 
from  the  group  of  mounted  dandies,  dashed  out  Lord  Frederick 
Beauchief,  upon  a  horse  of  unparalleled  beauty,  and  with 
a  short  gallop  took  and  kept  his  place  close  at  the  chariot 
window. 

Pallardos  watched  them  till  the  turn  of  the  rin^  took  them 

O 

from  his  sight.  The  fitness  of  the  group — the  evident  suitable 
ness  of  Lord  Frederick's  position  at  that  chariot  window,  filled 
him  with  a  jealousy  he  could  no  longer  stifle.  The  contest  was 
all  unequal,  it  was  too  palpable  to  deny.  He,  himself,  whatever 
his  person  or  qualities,  was,  when  on  foot,  in  the  place  allotted  to 
him  by  his  fortunes — not  only  unnoticed  by  the  contagious  admi 
ration  of  the  crowd,  but  unable  even  to  obey  his  mistress,  though 
beckoned  by  her  smile  to  follow  her  !  That  superb  animal,  the 
very  type  of  pride  and  beauty,  arching  his  glossy  neck  and  tossing 
his  spirited  head  before  the  eyes  of  Lady  Angelica,  was  one  of 
thoso  unanalyzed,  undisputed  vouchers  for  the  owner's  superiority, 
which  make  wealth  the  devil's  gift — irresistible  but  by  the  pene 
trating  and  cold  judgment  of  superior  beings.  How  should  a 


20  BREAKFAST  INVITATION. 


woman,  born  with  the  susceptible  weaknesses  of  her  sex,  most 
impressible  by  that  which  is  most  showy  and  beautiful — how 
should  she  be  expected  to  reason  coldly  and  with  philosophic 
discrimination  on  this  subject  ? — how  separate  from  Lord 
Frederick,  the  mere  man,  his  subservient  accompaniments  of 
wealth,  attendance,  homage  from  others,  and  infatuated  presump 
tion  in  himself?  Nay — what  presumption  in  Spiridion  Pallardos 
(so  he  felt,  with  his  teeth  set  together  in  despair,  as  he  walked 
rapidly  along) — to  suppose  that  he  could  contend  successfully 
against  this  and  a  thousand  such  advantages  and  opportunities, 
with  only  his  unpriced,  unproved  love  to  offer  her  with  a  hand  of 
poverty  !  His  heart  ran  drowningly  over  with  the  bitterness  of 
conviction. 

After  a  few  steps,  Pallardos  turned  back  with  an  instinctive 
though  inexplicable  desire  to  hasten  the  pang  of  once  more  meet 
ing  them  as  they  came  round  the  ring  of  the  park.  Coming 
toward  him,  was  one  of  the  honorable  officials  of  Downing  street, 
with  whom  he  had  been  thrown  in  contact,  a  conceited  and  well 
born  diner-out,  mounted  on  a  handsome  cob,  but  with  his  servant 
behind  him  on  a  blood-hunter.  Mr.  Dallinger  was  walking  his 
horse  slowly  along  the  fence,  and,  as  he  came  opposite  Pallardos, 
he  drew  rein. 

"  Count ! "  said  he,  in  that  patronising  tone  which  is  tossed 
over  the  head  of  the  patronised  like  a  swan's  neck  over  the  worm 
about  to  be  gobbled,  "  a — a — a — do  you  know  Spanish  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Why  ?» 

"  A — a — I've  a  job  for  you  !  You  know  Moreno,  the  Spanish 
secretary — well,  his  wife — she  will  persist  in  disguising  her  billets- 
doux  in  that  stilted  language,  and — you  know  what  I  want — 
suppose  you  come  and  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning  r" 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.       21 

Pallardos  was  mentally  crowding  his  contemptuous  refusal  into 
the  smallest  phrase  that  could  convey  repulse  to  insolence,  when 
the  high-stepping  and  foam-spattered  forelegs  of  Lady  Ayrnar's 
bays  appeared  under  the  drooping  branch  of  the  tree  beyond  him. 
The  next  instant,  Lord  Frederick's  easily-carried  head  danced 
into  sight — a  smile  of  perfect  self-satisfaction  on  his  face,  and  his 
magnificent  horse,  excited  by  the  constant  check,  prancing  at  his 
proudest.  At  the  moment  they  passed,  Dallinger's  groom, 
attempting  to  restrain  the  impatience  of  the  spirited  hunter  he 
was  upon,  drew  the  curb  a  little  too  violently,  and  the  man  was 
thrown.  The  sight  of  the  empty  saddle  sent  a  thought  through 
the  brain  of  Pallardos  like  a  shaft. 

"  May  I  take  a  little  of  the  nonsense  out  of  that  horse  for  you  ?" 
said  he  quickly,  springing  over  the  railing,  and  seizing  the  rein, 
to  which  the  man  still  held,  while  the  affrighted  horse  backed  and 
reared  toward  his  master. 

"  A — a — yes,  if  you  like !" 

Pallardos  sprang  into  the  saddle,  loosened  the  rein  and  leaned 
forward,  and,  with  three  or  four  powerful  bounds,  the  horse  was 
at  the  other  window  of  the  chariot.  Away,  with  the  bursted 
trammels  of  heart  and  brain,  went  all  thoughts  of  the  horse's 
owner,  and  all  design,  if  any  had  flashed  on  his  mind,  of  time  or 
place  for  restoring  him.  Bred  in  a  half-civilized  country,  where 
the  bold  hand  was  often  paramount  to  law,  the  Greek  had  no 
habit  of  mind  likely  to  recognise,  in  a  moment  of  passion,  even 
stronger  barriers  of  propriety  than  he  was  now  violating  ;  and,  to 
control  his  countenance  and  his  tongue,  and  summon  his  resources 
for  an  apparently  careless  and  smiling  contest  of  attraction  with 
his  untroubled  rival,  was  work  enough  for  the  whole  mind  and 
memory,  as  well  as  for  all  the  nerve  and  spirit  of  the  excited 


22  A  STOLEN  ADVANTAGE. 


Greek.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  chariot  window,  and  thinking  no 
more  of  the  horse  he  was  subduing  than  the  air  he  breathed,  broke 
up  his  powerful  gallop  to  a  pace  that  suited  him,  and  played  the 
lover  to  the  best  of  his  coolness  and  ability. 

"  We  saw  you  walking  just  now,  and  were  lamenting  that  you 
were  not  on  horseback,"  said  Lady  Aymar,  "  for  it  is  a  sweet 
evening,  and  we  thought  of  driving  out  for  a  stroll  in  old  Sir 
John  Chasteney's  grounds  at  Bayswater.  Will  you  come,  Spiri- 
dion  ?  Tell  White  to  drive  there  !" 

Lord  Frederick  kept  his  place,  and,  with  its  double  escort,  the 
equipage  of  the  Aymars  sped  on  its  way  to  Bayswater.  Spiridion 
was  the  handsomer  man,  and  the  more  graceful  rider,  and,  with 
out  forcing  the  difficult  part  of  keeping  up  a  conversation  with 
those  within  the  chariot,  he  soon  found  his  uneasiness  displaced 
by  a  glow  of  hope  and  happiness  ;  for  Lady  Angelica,  leaning  far 
back  in  her  seat,  and  completely  hidden  from  Lord  Frederick, 
kept  her  eyes  watchfully  and  steadily  upon  the  opposite  side,  where 
rode  her  less  confident  lover.  The  evening  was  of  summer's 
softest  and  richest  glory,  breezy  and  fragrant  ;  and  as  the  sun 
grew  golden,  the  party  alighted  at  the  gates  of  Chasteney  park — 
in  tune  for  love,  it  must  needs  be,  if  ever  conspiring  smiles  in 
nature  could  compel  accord  in  human  affections. 

Ah,  happy  Spiridion  Pallardos !  The  Lady  Angelica  called 
him  to  disengage  her  dress  from  the  step  of  the  carriage,  and  her 
arm  was  in  his  when  he  arose,  placed  there  as  confidingly  as  a 
bride's,  and  with  a  gentle  pressure  that  was  half  love  and  half 
mischief — for  she  quite  comprehended  that  Lord  Frederick's  ride 
to  Bayswater  was  not  for  the  pleasure  of  a  twilight  stroll  through 
Chasteney  park  with  her  mother  !  That  mother,  fortunately,  was 
no  duenna.  She  had  pretensions  of  her  own  to  admiration,  and 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.      23 


she  was  only  particular  as  to  the  quantity,  Her  daughter's  divi 
sion  with  her  of  the  homage  of  their  male  acquaintances,  was  an 
evil  she  indolently  submitted  to,  but  she  was  pleased  in  proportion 
as  it  was  not  obtruded  upon  her  notice.  As  Pallardos  and  the 
Lady  Angelica  turned  into  one  of  the  winding  alleys  of  the 
grounds,  Lady  Aymar  bent  her  large  eyes  very  fixedly  upon 
another,  and  where  such  beautiful  eyes  went  before,  her  small 
feet  were  very  sure  to  follow.  The  twilight  threw  its  first  blur  over 
the  embowering  foliage  as  the  parties  lost  sight  of  each  other, 
and,  of  the  pair  who  are  the  hero  and  heroine  of  this  story,  it  can 
only  be  disclosed  that  they  found  a  heaven  (embalmed,  for  their 
particular  use,  in  the  golden  dusk  of  that  evening's  twilight),  and 
returned  to  the  park  gate  in  the  latest  minute  before  dark,  sworn 
lovers,  let  come  what  would.  But  meantime,  the  happy  man's 
horse  had  disappeared,  as  well  he  might  have  been  expected  to 
do,  his  bridle  having  been  thrown  over  a  bush  by  the  engrossed 
Pallardos,  when  called  upon  to  assist  Lady  Angelica  from  her 
carriage,  and  milord's  groom  and  miladi's  footman  having  no 
sovereign  reasons  for  securing  him.  Lord  Frederick  laughed  till 
the  Count  accepted  the  offer  of  Lady  Aymar  to  take  him  home, 
bodkin-wise,  between  herself  and  her  daughter  ;  and  for  the  hap 
piness  of  being  close  pressed  to  the  loving  side  of  the  Lady  Ange 
lica  for  one  hour  more,  Pallardos  would  willingly  have  lost  a 
thousand  horses — his  own  or  the  Honorable  Mr.  Dallinger's. 
And,  by  the  way,  of  Mr.  Dallinger  and  his  wrath,  and  his  horse 
less  groom,  Spiridion  began  now  to  have  a  thought  or  two  of  an 
uncomfortable  pertinacity  of  intrusion. 


24  A  HORSE  STEALER  A  GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER    III. 

SHOWING    WHAT    MAKES    A    HORSE-STEALER    A    GENTLEMAN. 

IT  was  the  first  day  of  September,  and  most  of  the  gold  threads 
were  drawn  from  the  tangled  and  vari-colored  woof  of  London 
society.  "  The  season"  was  over.  Two  gentlemen  stood  in  the 
window  of  Crockford's,  one  a  Jew  barrister  (kersey  enough  for 
more  russet  company  by  birth  and  character,  but  admitted  to  the 
society  of  "  costly  stuff "  for  the  equivalent  he  gave  as  a  pur 
veyor  of  scandal),  and  the  other  a  commoner,  whose  wealth  and 
fashion  gave  him  the  privilege  of  out-staying  the  season  in  town, 
without  publishing  in  the  Morning  Post  a  better  reason  than 
inclination  for  so  unnatural  a  procedure. 

Count  Spiridion  Pallardos  was  seen  to  stroll  slowly  up  St. 
James'  street,  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  Look  there,  Abrams  !"  said  Mr.  Townley  Mynncrs,  "  there's 
the  Greek  who  was  taken  up  at  one  time  by  the  Aymars.  I 
thought  he  was  transported." 

"  No  !  he  still  goes  to  the  Aymars,  though  he  is  t  in  Coventry' 
everywhere  else.  Dallinger  had  him  arrested — for  horse-stealing, 
wasn't  it  ?  The  officer  nabbed  him  as  he  was  handing  Lady 
Angelica  out  of  her  carriage  in  Berkeley  square.  I  remember 
hearing  of  it  two  months  ago.  What  a  chop-fallen  blackguard  it 
looks  !" 

"  Blackguard  !  Come,  come,  man  ! — give  the  devil  his  due  !" 
deprecated  the  more  liberal  commoner ;  "  may  be  it's  from  not 
having  seen  a  gentleman  for  the  last  week,  but,  hang  me  if  I 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.       25 


don't  think  that  same  horse-stealer  turning  the  corner  is  as  crack- 
looking  a  man  as  I  ever  saw  from  this  window.  What's  o'clock  r" 

"  Half-past  four,"  replied  the  scandal-monger,  swallowing,  with 
a  bland  smile,  what  there  icas  to  swallow  in  Mj-nners's  two-edged 
remark,  and  turning  suddenly  on  his  heel. 

Pallardos  slowly  took  his  way  along  Piccadilly,  and  was  pre 
sently  in  Berkeley  square,  at  the  door  of  the  Aymars.  The  por 
ter  admitted  him  without  question,  and  he  mounted,  unannounced, 
to  the  drawing-room.  The  ladies  sat  by  the  window,  looking  out 
upon  the  garden. 

"  Is  it  you,  Spiridion  r"  said  Lady  Ayniar,  "  I  had  hoped  you 
would  not  come  to-day  !" 

"  Oh,  mamma  !"  appealed  Lady  Angelica. 

"  Welcome  all  other  days  of  the  year,  my  dear  Pallardos — 
warmly  welcome,  of  course" — continued  Lady  Ayniar,  "  but — to 
day — oh  God  !  you  have  no  idea  what  the  first  of  September  is — 
to  us — to  my  husband  !" 

Lady  Aymar  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the  tears 
streamed  through  her  finders. 

C  <_; 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Pallardos,  "  pardon  me,  my  dear  lady,  but 
I  am  here  by  the  earl's  invitation,  to  dine  at  six." 

Lady  Ayniar  sprang  from  her  seat  in  astonishment. 

"  By  the  earl's  invitation,  did  you  say  ?  Angelica,  what  can 
that  mean  ?  Was  it  by  note,  Count  Pallardos  ?" 

"  By  note,"  he  replied. 

"  I  am  amazed  !"  she  said,  "  truly  amazed  !  Does  he  mean  to 
have  a  confidant  for  his  family  secret  ?  Is  his  insanity  on  one 
point  affecting  his  reason  on  all  ?  What  shall  we  do,  Angelica  r" 

"  We  may  surely  confide  in  Spiridion,  whatever  the  meaning 
of  it,  or  the  result"— gently  murmured  Lady  Angelica. 

•2 


26  A  PROPOSAL. 


"  We  may — we  may!"  said  Lady  Aymar.  "  Prepare  him  for 
it  as  you  will.  I  pray  Heaven  to  help  me  through  with  it  this 
day  without  upsetting  my  own  reason.  I  shall  meet  you  at  din 
ner,  Spiridion." 

With  her  hands  twisted  together  in  a  convulsive  knot,  Lady 
Aymar  slowly  and  musingly  passed  into  the  conservatory,  on  her 
way  to  her  own  room,  leaving  to  themselves  two  lovers  who  had 
much  to  talk  of  beside  dwelling  upon  a  mystery  which,  even  to 
Lady  Angelica,  who  knew  most  of  it,  was  wholly  inexplicable. 
Yet  it  was  partially  explained  by  the  trembling  girl — explained 
as  a  case  of  monomania,  and  with  the  brevity  of  a  disagreeable 
subject,  but  listened  to  by  her  lover  with  a  different  feeling — a 
conviction  as  of  a  verified  dream,  and  a  vague,  inexplicable 
terror  which  he  could  neither  reason  down  nor  account  for.  But 
the  lovers  must  be  left  to  themselves,  by  the  reader  as  well  as  by 
Lady  Aymar  ;  and  meantime,  till  the  dinner  hour,  when  our 
story  begins  again,  we  may  glance  at  a  note  which  was  received, 
and  replied  to,  by  Lord  Aymar  in  the  library  below. 

"  MY  DEAR  LORD  :  In  the  belief  that  a  frank  communication 
would  be  best  under  the  circumstances,  I  wish  to  make  an  inquiry, 
prefacing  it  with  the  assurance  that  my  only  hope  of  happiness 
has  been  for  some  time  staked  upon  the  successful  issue  of  my 
suit  for  your  daughter's  hand.  It  is  commonly  understood,  I 
believe,  that  the  bulk  of  your  lordship's  fortune  is  separate  from 
the  entail,  and  may  be  disposed  of  at  your  pleasure.  May  I 
inquire  its  amount,  or  rather,  may  I  ask  what  fortune  goes  with 
the  hand  of  Lady  Angelica.  The  Beauchief  estates  are  unfor 
tunately  much  embarrassed,  and  my  own  debts  (I  may  frankly 
confess)  are  very  considerable.  You  will  at  once  see,  my  lord, 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.       27 

that,  in  justice  to  your  daughter,  as  well  as  to  myself,  I  could  not 
do  otherwise  than  make  this  frank  inquiry  before  pushing  my  suit 
to  extremity.  Begging  your  indulgence  and  an  immediate  answer, 
I  remain,  my  dear  lord,  yours  very  faithfully, 

"  FREDERICK  BEAUCHIEF. 
"The  EARL  OF  AYMAR." 

(REPLY.) 

"  DEAR  LORD  FREDERICK  :  I  trust  you  will  not  accuse  me  of 
a  want  of  candor  in  declining  a  direct  answer  to  your  question. 
Though  I  freely  own  to  a  friendly  wish  for  your  success  in  your 
efforts  to  engage  the  affections  of  Lady  Angelica,  with  a  view  to 
marriage,  it  can  only  be  in  the  irrevocable  process  of  a  marriage 
settlement  that  her  situation,  as  to  the  probable  disposal  of  my 
fortune,  can  be  disclosed.  I  may  admit  to  you,  however,  that 
upon  the  events  of  this  day  on  which  you  have  written,  (it  so 
chances,)  may  depend  the  question  whether  I  should  encourage 
you  to  pursue  further  your  addresses  to  Lady  Angelica. 
"  Yours  very  faithfully, 

"  AYMAR. 
"  Lord  FREDERICK  BEAUCHIEF." 

It  seemed  like  the  first  day  after  a  death,  in  the  house  of  Lord 
Aymar.  An  unaccountable  hush  prevailed  through  the  servants' 
offices  ;  the  grey-headed  old  butler  crept  noiselessly  about,  making 
his  preparations  for  dinner,  and  the  doors,  that  were  opened  and 
ghut,  betrayed  the  careful  touch  of  apprehension.  With  pene 
trating  and  glassy  clearness,  the  kitchen  clock,  seldom  heard 
above  stairs,  resounded  through  the  house,  striking  six. 


28  PREMONITIONS. 


In  the  same  neglected  attire  which  she  had  worn  in  the  morn 
ing,  Lady  Aymar  re-entered  the  drawing-room.  The  lids  were 
drawn  up  around  her  large  eyes  with  a  look  of  unresisting  distress, 
and  she  walked  with  relaxed  steps,  and  had,  altogether,  an  absent 
air  and  seemed  full  of  dread.  The  interrupted  lovers  ceased  talk 
ing  as  she  approached,  but  she  did  not  remark  the  silence,  and 
walked,  errandless,  from  corner  to  corner. 

The  butler  announced  dinner. 

"  May  I  give  your  ladyship  an  arm  ?"  asked  Pallardos. 

"  Oh  God!  is  it  dinner-time  already!'7  she  exclaimed  with  a 
voice  of  terror.  "  Williams  !  is  Lord  Aymar  below  ?" 

"  In  the  dining-room,  miladi." 

She  took  Spiridion's  arm,  and  they  descended  the  stairs.  As 
they  approached  the  dining-room,  her  arm  trembled  so  violently 
in  his  that  he  turned  to  her  with  the  fear  that  she  was  about  to 
fall.  He  did  not  speak.  A  vague  dread,  which  was  more  than 
he  had  caught  from  her  looks — a  something  unaccountably  heavy 
at  his  own  heart — made  his  voice  cling  to  his  throat.  He  bowed 
to  Lord  Aymar. 

His  noble  host  stood  leaning  upon  the  mantel-piece,  pale,  but 
seeming  less  stern  and  cold  than  suffering  and  nerved  to  bear 
pain. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  count !"  he  said,  giving  him 
his  hand  with  an  afFectionateness  that  he  had  never  before  mani 
fested.  "  Are  you  quite  well?"  he  added,  scrutinizing  his  fea 
tures  closely  with  the  question — "  for,  like  myself,  you  seem  to 
have  grown  pale  upon  this September  dullness." 

"  I  am  commonly  less  well  in  this  month  than  in  any  other," 
said  Pallardos,  "  and — now  I  think  of  it — I  had  forgotten  that  I 
arose  this  morning  with  a  depression  of  spirits  as  singular  as  it 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.        39 


was  unendurable.      I  forgot  it,  when  I  received  your  lordship's 
note,  in  the  happiness  the  day  was  to  bring  me." 

The  lovers  exchanged  looks,  unremarked,  apparently,  by  cither 
Lord  or  Lady  Aymar,  and  the  conversation  relapsed  into  the 
commonplaces  of  dinner-table  civility.  Spiridion  observed  that 
the  footmen  were  excluded,  the  old  butler  alone  serving  them  at 
table  ;  and  that  the  shutters,  of  which  he  got  a  chance  glimpse 
between  the  curtains,  were  carefully  closed.  Once  or  twice  Pal 
lardos  roused  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  was  ill  playing  the 
part  of  an  agreeable  guest,  and  proposed  some  question  that  might 
lead  to  discussion  ;  but  the  spirits  of  Lady  Angelica  seemed 
frighted  to  silence,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Aymar  were  wholly 
absorbed,  or  were  at  least  unconscious  of  their  singular  incommu- 
nicativeness. 

Dinner  dragged  on  slowly — Lady  Aymar  retarding  every 
remove  with  terrified  and  flurried  eagerness.  Pallardos  remarked 
that  she  did  not  eat,  but  she  asked  to  be  helped  again  from  every 
dish  before  its  removal.  Her  fork  rattled  on  the  plate  with  the 
trembling  of  her  hand,  and,  once  or  twice,  an  outbreak  of  hyste 
rical  tears  was  evidently  prevented  by  a  stern  word  and  look  from 
Lord  Aymar. 

The  butler  leaned  over  to  his  mistress's  ear.  , 

"  No — no — no  !  Not  yet — not  yet !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
hurried  voice,  "  one  minute  more  !"  But  the  clock  at  that 
instant  struck  seven,  counted  by  that  table  company  in  breathless 
silence.  Pallardos  felt  his  heart  sink,  he  knew  not  why. 

Lord  Aymar  spoke  quickly  and  hoarsely. 

"  Turn  the  key,  Williams." 

Lady  Aymar  screamed  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Remove  the  cloth  !"  he  again  ordered  precipitately. 


3C  VISIBLE  TO  ANOTHER. 


The  butler's  hand  trembled.  He  fumbled  with  the  corner  of 
the  cloth  a  moment,  and  seemed  to  want  strength  or  courage  to 
fulfil  his  office.  With  a  sudden  effort,  Lord  Aymar  seized  and 
threw  the  cloth  to  the  other  end  of  the  apartment. 

"  There  !"  cried  he,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  pointing  to  the 
bare  table,  "  there  !  there  !"  he  repeated,  seizing  the  hand  of 
Lady  Angelica,  as  she  arose  terrified  upon  her  feet.  "  See  you 
nothing  ?  Do  you  see  nothing  ?" 

With  a  look,  at  her  father,  of  blank  inquiry — a  look  of  pity  at 
her  mother,  sunk  helpless  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair — a  look  at 
Pallardos,  who,  with  open  mouth,  and  eyes  starting  from  their 
sockets,  stood  gazing  upon  the  table,  heedless  of  all  present — she 
answered — "  Nothing — my  dear  father  ! — nothing  !" 

He  flung  her  arm  suddenly  from  his  hand. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  he,  with  angry  emphasis.  "  Take  her,  shame 
less  woman  !  Take  your  child,  and  begone  !" 

But  Pallardos  laid  his  hand  upon  the  earl's  arm. 

"  My  lord  !  my  lord  !"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  fearful  suppression 
of  outcry,  "  can  we  not  remove  this  hideous  object  ?  How  il 
glares  at  you ! — at  me  !  Why  does  it  look  at  me  !  What  is  it, 
Lord  Aymar  ?  What  brings  that  ghastly  head  here  ?  Oh  God  ! 
oh  God  !  I  have  seen  it  so  often  !" 

«  You  1 — you  have  seen  it  ?"  suddenly  asked  Lady  Aymar,  in 
a  whisper.  "  Is  there  anything  to  see  ?  Do  you  see  the  same 
dreadful  sight,  Spiridion  ?"  Her  voice  rose,  with  the  last  question, 
to  a  scream. 

Pallardos  did  not  answer.  He  had  forgotten  the  presence  of 
them  all.  He  struggled  a  moment,  gasping  and  choking  for  self- 
control,  and  then*,  with  a  sudden  movement,  clutched  at  the  bare 
table.  His  empty  hand  slowly  opened,  and  his  strength  sufficed 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.      31 


to  pass  his  finger  across  the  palm.  He  staggered  backward  with 
an  idiotic  laugh,  and  was  received  in  his  fall  by  the  trembling 
arms  of  Lady  Angelica.  A  motion  from  Lord  Aymar  conveyed 
to  his  faithful  servant  that  the  phantom  was  vanishing  !  The 
door  was  flung  open,  and  the  household  summoned. 

"  Count  Pallardos  has  fainted  from  the  heat  of  the  room,'7  said 
Lord  Aymar  "  Place  him  upon  my  bed  !  And — Lady  Aymar ! — 
will  you  step  into  the  library — I  would  speak  with  }TOU  a  moment !" 

There  was  humility  and  beseechingness  in  the  last  few  words  of 
Lord  Aymar,  which  fell  strangely  on  the  ear  of  the  affrighted  and 
guilty  woman.  Her  mind  had  been  too  fearfully  tasked  to  com 
prehend  the  meaning  of  that  changed  tone, but,  with  a  vague  feel 
ing  of  relief,  she  staggered  through  the  hall,  and  the  door  of  the 
library  closed  behind  her. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A  LETTER  from  Lord  Aymar  to  Lady  Angelica  will  put  the  story 
forward  a  little : 

"  MY  DEAR  ANGELICA  :  I  am  happy  to  know  that  there  arc 
circumstances  which  will  turn  aside  much  of  the  poignancy  of  the 
communication  I  am  about  to  make  to  you.  If  I  am  not  mistaken, 
At  least,  in  believing  a  mutual  attachment  to  exist  between  your 
self  and  Count  Pallardos,  you  will  at  once  comprehend  the  ground 
of  my  mental  relief,  and,  perhaps,  in  a  measure,  anticipate  what 
I  am  about  to  say. 

"  I  have  never  spo*pn  to  von  of  tho  frnrfnl  inheritance  in  tho 


32  DAUGHTER  DISOWN'D. 


blood  of  the  Aymars.  This  would  appear  a  singular  omission 
between  two  members  of  one  family,  but  I  had  strong  reasons  for 
my  silence,  one  of  which  was  your  possible  sympathy  with  your 
mother's  obstinate  incredulity.  Now — since  yesterday's  appalling 
proof — you  can  no  longer  doubt  the  inheritance  of  the  phantom 
head — the  fearful  record  of  some  nameless  deed  of  guilt,  which  is 
doomed  to  haunt  our  festal  table  as  often  as  the  murderous  day 
shall  come  around  to  a  descendant  of  our  blood.  Fortunately — 
mercifully  I  shall  perhaps  say — we  are  not  visited  by  this  dread 
avenger  till  the  maturity  of  manhood  gives  us  the  courage  to  com 
bat  with  its  horror.  The  Septembers,  since  my  twentieth  year, 
have  brought  it  with  fatal  certainty  to  me.  God  alone  knows 
how  long  I  shall  be  able  to  withstand  the  taint  it  gives  to  my 
thoughts  when  waking,  and  to  the  dreams  upon  my  haunted 
pillow. 

"  You  will  readily  see,  in  what  I  have  said,  another  reason  for 
my  silence  toward  you  on  this  subject.  In  the  strong  sympathy 
and  sensitive  imagination  of  a  woman,  might  easily  be  bred,  by 
too  vivid  picturing,  a  fancy  which  would  be  as  palpable  almost 
as  the  reality ;  and  I  wished  you  to  arrive  at  woman's  years 
with  a  belief  that  it  was  but  a  monomaniac  affection  of  my 
own  brain — a  disease  to  pity  but  not  to  share  !  You  are  now 
twenty.  The  females  of  my  family  have  invariably  seen  the 
phantom  at  seventeen !  Do  you  anticipate  the  painful  inference 
I  draw  from  the  fact  that  this  spectre  is  invisible  to  you ! 

"  No,  Angelica !  you  are  not  my  daughter !  The  Aymar 
blood  does  not  run  in  your  veins,  and  I  know  not  how  much 
it  will  soften  the  knowledge  of  your  mother's  frailty  to  know, 
that  you  are  spared  the  dread  inheritance  that  would  have 
been  vours  with  a  leoritimaey  of  honor.  J  had  grounds  for  this 


THE  PHANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.  33 


belief  at  your  birth,  but  I  thought  it  due  to  the  hallowed  char 
acter  of  woman  and  wife  to  summon  courage  to  wait  for  con 
firmation.  Had  I  acted  out  the  impulse,  then  almost  uncon 
trollable  within  me,  I  should  have  profited  by  the  lawless  land 
in  which  I  resided  to  add  more  weight  to  the  errand  of  this 
phantom  avenger.  But  time  and  reason  have  done  their  work 
upon  me.  Your  mother  is  safe  from  open  retribution.  May 
God  pardon  her ! 

"  You  will  have  said,  here,  that  since  Count  Pallardos  has 
been  revealed  by  the  same  pursuing  Providence  to  be  my  son,  I 
may  well  refrain  from  appearing  as  my  wife's  accuser.  I  have  no 
wish  to  profit  by  the  difference  the  world  makes  between  infidelity 
in  man,  and  infidelity  in  woman ;  nor  to  look,  for  an  apology, 
into  the  law  of  nature  upon  which  so  general  and  undisputed  a 
distinction  must  needs  be  founded.  I  confess  the  justice  of 
Heaven's  vengeance  upon  the  crime — visited  upon  me,  I  fearfully 
believe,  in  the  unconscious  retaliation  which  gave  you  birth. 
Yet  I  can  not,  for  this,  treat  you  as  the  daughter  of  my  blood. 

"  And  this  brings  me  to  the  object  of  my  letter.  With  the 
care  of  years,  I  have  separated,  from  the  entail  of  Aymar,  the 
bulk  of  my  fortune.  God  has  denied  me  a  legitimate  male  heir, 
and  I  have  long  ago  determined  to  leave,  to  its  natural  conflict 
with  circumstances,  the  character  of  a  child  I  knew  to  be  mine, 
and  to  adopt  its  destiny,  if  it  proved  worthy,  should  my  fears  as 
to  your  own  parentage  be  confirmed  by  the  undeniable  testimony 
of  our  spectral  curse.  Count  Pallardos  is  that  child.  Fate 
drew  him  here,  without  my  interference,  as  the  crisis  of  your 
destiny  turned  against  you.  The  innocent  was  not  to  be  pun 
ished  for  the  guilty,  and  the  inheritance  he  takes  from  you  goes 
back  to  you — with  his  love  in  wedlock !  So,  at  least,  appear- 


34  CONDITIONAL  CHALLENGE 


auces  have  led  me  to  believe,  and  so  would  seem  to  be  made  ap 
parent  the  kind  provisions  cf  Heaven  against  our  resentful  injus 
tices.  I  must  confess  that  I  shall  weep  tears  of  joy  if  it  be  so, 
for,  dear  Angelica,  you  have  wound  yourself  around  my  heart, 
nearer  to  its  core  than  the  coil  of  this  serpent  revenge.  I  shall 
find  it  to  be  so,  I  am  sadly  sure,  if  I  prove  incorrect  in  my  sup 
positions  as  to  your  attachment. 

"  I  have  now  to  submit  to  you,  I  trust  only  as  a  matter  of 
form,  two  offers  for  your  hand — one  from  Mr.  Townley  Myn- 
ners,  and  the  other  (conditional,  however,  with  your  fortune) 
from  Lord  Frederick  Beauchief.  An  annuity  of  five  hundred  a 
year  would  be.  all  you  would  receive  for  a  fortune,  and  your 
choice,  of  course,  is  free.  As  the  Countess  Pallardos,  you  would 
share  a  very  large  fortune  (my  gifts  to  my  son,  by  a  transfer  to  be 
executed  this  day),  and  to  that  destiny,  if  need  be,  I  tearfully 
urge  you. 

"  Affectionately  yours,  my  dear  Angelica, 

"  AYMAR." 

With  one  more  letter,  perhaps,  the  story  will  be  sufficiently 
told. 

"  DEAR  COUNT  :  You  will  wonder  at  receiving  a  friendly  note 
from  me,  after  my  refusal,  two  months  since,  to  meet  you  ovor 
i  pistols  and  coffee  ;'  but  reparation  may  not  be  too  late,  and  this 
is  to  say,  that  you  have  your  choice  between  two  modes  of  settle-  . 
ment,  viz  : — to  accept  for  your  stable  the  hunter  you  stole  from  ; 
me  (vide  police  report)  and  allow  me  to  take  a  glass  of  wine  with 
you  at  my  own  table  and  bury  the  hatchet,  or,  to  shoot  at  me  if 
you  like,  according  to  your  original  design.     Mynners  and  Beau- 


THE  PI'ANTOM-HEAD  UPON  THE  TABLE.  35 


chief  hope  you  will  select  the  latter,  as  they  owe  you  a  grudge  for 
the  possession  of  your  incomparable  bride  and  her  fortune  ;  but  I 
trust  you  will  prefer  the  horse,  which  (if  I  am  rightly  informed) 
bore  you  to  the  declaration  of  love  at  Chasteney.  Reply  to 
Crockford's. 

"  Yours  ever  (if  you  like), 

"  POMFEET  DALLINGEK. 
"  Count  PALLARDOS." 

Is  the  story  told  ?     I  think  so  ! 


GETTING  TO  WINDWAED, 


CHAPTER    I. 

LONDON  is  an  abominable  place  to  dine  in.  I  mean,  of  course, 
unless  you  are  free  of  a  club,  invited  out,  or  pay  a  ridiculous 
price  for  a  French  dinner.  The  unknown  stranger,  adrift  on  the 
streets,  with  a  traveller's  notions  of  the  worth  of  things  to  eat,  is 
much  worse  off,  as  to  his  venture  for  a  meal,  than  he  would  be  in 
the  worst  town  of  the  worst  province  of  France — much  worse  off 
than  he  would  be  in  New  York  or  New  Orleans.  There  is  a 
"  Very's,"  it  is  true,  and  there  are  one  or  two  restaurants,  so 
called,  in  the  Haymarket ;  but  it  is  true,  notwithstanding,  that 
short  of  a  two-guinea  dinner  at  the  Clarendon,  or  some  hotel  of 
this  class,  the  next  best  thing  is  a  simple  pointed  steak,  with  pota 
toes,  at  a  chop-house.  The  admirable  club-system  (admirable 
for  club-members)  has  absorbed  all  the  intermediate  degrees  of 
eating-houses,  and  the  traveller's  chance  and  solitary  meal  must 
be  either  absurdly  expensive,  or  dismally  furnished  and  attended. 
The  only  real  liberty  one  ever  enjoys  in  a  metropolis  is  the 
interval  (longer  or  shorter,  as  one  is  more  or  less  a  philosopher) 
between  his  arrival  and  the  delivery  of  his  letters  of  introduction. 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  37 

While  perfectly  unknown,  dreading  no  rencontre  of  acquaintances, 
subject  to  no  care  of  dress,  equipage,  or  demeanor,  the  stranger 
feels,  what  he  never  feels  afterward,  a  complete  abandon  to  what 
immediately  surrounds  him,  a  complete  willingness  to  be  amused 
in  any  shape  which  chance  pleases  to  offer,  and,  his  desponding 
loneliness  serving  him  like  the  dark  depths  of  a  well,  he  sees  lights 
invisible  from  the  higher  level  of  amusement. 

Tired  of  my  solitary  meals  in  the  parlor  of  a  hotel  during  my 
first  week  in  London,  I  made  the  round  of  such  dining-places  as  I 
could  inquire  out  at  the  West  End — of  course,  from  the  reserved 
habits  of  the  country  toward  strangers,  making  no  acquaintances, 
and  scarce  once  exchanging  a  glance  with  the  scores  who  sat  at  the 
tables  around  me.  Observation  was  my  only  amusement,  and  I 
felt  afterward  indebted  to  those  silent  studies  of  character  for 
more  acquaintance  with  the  under-crust  of  John  Bull,  than  can 
be  gathered  from  books  or  closer  intercourse.  It  is  foreign  to 
my  present  purpose,  however,  to  tell  why  his  pride  should  seem 
want  of  curiosity,  and  why  his  caution  and  delicacy  should  show 
like  insensibility  and  coldness.  I  am  straying  from  my  story. 

The  covered  promenade  of  the  Burlington  Arcade  is,  on  rainy 
days,  a  great  allure  for  a  small  chop-house  hard  by,  called  a  The 
Blue  Posts."  This  is  a  snug  little  tavern,  with  the  rear  of  its 
two  stories  cut  into  a  single  dining-room,  where  chops,  steaks,  ale, 
and  punch,  may  be  had  in  unusual  perfection.  It  is  frequented 
ordinarily  by  a  class  of  men  peculiar,  I  should  think,  to  England — 
taciturn,  methodical  in  their  habits,  and  highly  respectable  in 
their  appearance — men  who  seem  to  have  no  amusements  and  no 
circle  of  friends,  but  who  come  in  at  six  and  sit  over  their  punch 
and  the  newspapers  till  bed-time,  without  speaking  a  syllable, 
except  to  the  waiter,  and  apparently  turning  a  cold  shoulder  of 


38  LONDON  CHOP-HOUSE. 


discouragement  to  any  one  in  the  room  who  may  be  disposed  to 
offer  a  passing  remark.  They  hang  their  hats  daily  on  the  same 
peg,  daily  sit  at  the  same  table  (where  the  chair  is  turned  down 
for  them  by  Villiam,  the  short  waiter),  daily  drink  a  small  pitcher 
of  punch  after  their  half-pint  of  sherry,  and  daily  read,  from 
beginning  to  end,  the  Herald,  Post,  and  Times,  with  the  variation 
of  the  Athenaeum  and  Spectator,  on  Saturdays  and  Sundays.  I 
at  first  hazarded  various  conjectures  as  to  their  condition  in  life. 
They  were  evidently  unmarried,  and  men  of  easy,  though  limited 
means — men  of  no  great  care,  and  no  high  hopes,  and  in  a  fixed 
station ;  yet  of  that  degree  of  intelligence  and  firm  self-respect 
which,  in  other  countries  (the  United  States,  certainly,  at  least), 
would  have  made  them  sought  for  in  some  more  social  and  higher 
sphere  than  that  with  which  they  seemed  content.  I  afterwards 
obtained  something  of  a  clue  to  the  mystery  of  the  "  Blue  Posts" 
society,  by  discovering  two  of  the  most  respectable  looking  of  its 
customers  in  the  exercise  of  their  daily  vocations.  One  man,  of 
fine  phrenological  development,  rather  bald,  and  altogether  very 
intellectual  in  his  "  os  sublime,"  I  met  at  the  rooms  of  a  fashion 
able  friend,  taking  his  measure  for  pantaloons.  He  was  the  fore 
man  of  a  celebrated  Bond-street  tailor.  The  other  was  the  head- 
shopman  of  a  famous  haberdasher  in  Regent  street ;  and  either 
might  have  passed  for  Godwin  the  novelist,  or  Babbidge  the  cal 
culator — with  those  who  had  seen  those  great  intellects  only  in 
their  imaginations.  It  is  only  in  England,  that  men  who,  like 
these,  have  read  or  educated  themselves  far  above  their  situations 
in  life,  would  quietly  submit  to  the  arbitrary  disqualifications  of 
their  pursuits,  and  agree  unresistingly  to  the  sentence  of  exile 
from  the  society  suited  to  their  mental  grade.  But  here  again  1 
am  getting  away  from  my  story. 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  39 

It  was  the  close  of  a  London  rainy  day.  Weary  of  pacing  my 
solitary  room,  I  sallied  out  as  usual,  to  the  Burlington  Arcade 
(I  say  as  usual,  for  in  a  metropolis  where  it  rains  nine  days  out  of 
ten,  rainy-weather  resorts  become  habitual.)  The  little  shops  on 
either  side  were  brightly  lit,  the  rain  pattered  on  the  glass  roof 
overhead,  and,  to  one  who  had  not  a  single  acquaintance  in  so  vast 
a  city,  even  the  passing  of  the  crowd  and  the  glittering  of  lights 
seemed  a  kind  of  society.  I  began  to  speculate  on  the  characters 
of  those  who  passed  and  repassed  me  in  the  turns  of  the  short 
gallery ;  and  the  dinner-hours  coming  round,  and  the  men 
gradually  thinning  off  from  the  crowd,  I  adjourned  to  the  Blue 
Posts  with  very  much  the  feeling  of  a  reader  interrupted  in  the 
progress  of  a  novel.  One  of  the  faces  that  had  most  interested 
me  was  that  of  a  foreigner,  who,  with  a  very  dejected  air,  leaned 
on  the  arm  of  an  older  man,  and  seemed  promenading  to  kill 
time,  without  any  hope  of  killing  his  ennui.  On  seating  myself 
at  one  of  the  small  tables,  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  the 
two  foreigners  my  close  neighbors,  and,  in  the  national  silence  of 
the  company  present,  broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  knives  and 
forks,  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  overhearing  every  word  spoken 
by  either.  After  a  look  at  me,  as  if  to  satisfy  themselves  that  I, 
too,  was  a  John  Bull,  they  went  on  with  their  conversation  ia 
French,  which,  so  long  as  it  was  confined  to  topics  of  drink  and 
platter,  weather  and  news,  I  did  not  care  to  interrupt.  But,  with 
their  progress  through  a  second  pint  of  sherry,  personal  topics 
came  up,  and  as  they  seemed  to  be  conversing  with  an  impression 
that  their  language  was  not  understood,  I  felt  obliged  to  remind 
them  that  I  was  overhearing  unwillingly  what  they  probably 
meant  for  a  private  conversation.  With  a  frankness  which  I 
scarcely  expected,  they  at  once  requested  me  to  transfer  my  glass 


40  FIRST  STEP  IN  POVERTY. 

to  their  table,  and,  calling  for  a  pitcher  of  punch,  they  extended 
their  confidence  by  explaining  to  me  the  grounds  of  the  remarks 
I  had  heard,  and  continuing  to  converse  freely  on  the  subject. 
Through  this  means,  and  a  subsequent  most  agreeable  acquaint 
ance,  I  possessed  myself  of  the  circumstances  of  the  following 
story  ;  and  having  thus  shown  the  reader  (rather  digressively,  1 
must  own)  how  I  came  by  it,  I  proceed  in  the  third  person, 
trusting  that  my  narration  will  not  now  seem  like  the  "  coinage 
of  the  brain." 

The  two  gentlemen  dining  at  the  Blue  Posts  on  the  rainy  day 
just  mentioned,  were  Frenchmen,  and  political  exiles.  With  the 
fortunes  of  the  younger,  this  story  has  chiefly  to  do.  He  was  a 
man  past  the  sentimental  age,  perhaps  nearer  thirty-seven  than 
thirty-five,  less  handsome  than  distinguished  in  his  appearance, 
yet  with  one  of  those  variable  faces  which  are  handsome  for  single 
instants  once  in  a  half  hour,  more  or  less.  His  companion  called 
him  Belaccueil. 

"  I  could  come  down  to  my  circumstances,"  he  said  to  Mon 
sieur  St.  Leger,  his  friend,  "  if  I  knew  how.  It  is  not  courage 
that  is  wanting.  I  would  do  anything  for  a  livelihood.  But 
what  is  the  first  step  ?  What  is  the  next  step  from  this  ?  This 
last  dinner — this  last  night's  lodging— I  am  at  the  end  of  my 
means  ;  and  unless  I  accept  of  charity  from  you,  which  I  will  not, 
to-morrow  must  begin  my  descent.  Where  to  put  my  foot  ?  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  down  into  his  glass,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  only  expects  an  answer  to  refute  its  reasoning. 

"  My  dear  Belaccueil,"  said  the  other,  after  a  moment's  hesi 
tation,  "  you  were  famous  in  your  better  days  for  almost  universal 
accomplishment.  Mimic,  dancer,  musician,  cook — what  was 
there  in  our  merry  carnival-time,  to  which  you  did  not  descend 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  41 


with  success  for  mere  amusement  ?  Why  not  now  for  that 
independence  of  livelihood  to  which  you  adhere  so  pertina 
ciously  ? " 

"  You  will  be  amused  to  find,"  he  answered,  "how  well  1 
have  sounded  the  depths  of  every  one  of  these  resources.  The 
French  theatre  of  London  has  refused  me  point-blank,  all  engage 
ment,  spite  of  the  most  humiliating  exhibitions  of  my  powers  of 
mimicry  before  the  stage-manager  and  a  fifth-rate  actress.  I  am 
not  musician  enough  for  a  professor,  though  very  well  for  an 
amateur,  and  have  advertised  in  vain  for  employment  as  a  teacher 
of  music,  and — what  was  your  other  vocation  ! — cook  !  Oh  no  ! 
I  have  just  science  enough  to  mend  a  bad  dinner  and  spoil  a  good 
one,  though  I  declare  to  you,  I  would  willingly  don  the  white  cap 
and  apron  and  dive  for  life  to  the  basement.  No,  my  friend,  I 
have  even  offered  myself  as  assistant  dancing-master,  and  failed  ! 
Is  not  that  enough  ?  If  it  is  not,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  would 
sweep  the  crossings,  if  my  appearance  would  not  excite  curiosity, 
or  turn  dustman,  if  I  were  strong  enough  for  the  labor.  Come 
down  !  Show  me  how  to  come  down,  and  see  whether  I  am  not 
prepared  to  do  it.  But  you  do  not  know  the  difficulty  of  earning 
a  penny  in  London.  Do  you  suppose,  with  all  the  influence  and 
accomplishments  I  possess,  I  could  get  the  place  of  this  scrubby 
waiter  who  brings  us  our  cigars  ?  No,  indeed  !  His  situation  is 
a  perfect  castle — impregnable  to  those  below  him.  There  are 
hundreds  of  poor  wretches  within  a  mile  of  us  who  would  think 
themselves  in  Paradise  to  get  his  situation.  How  easy  it  is  for 
the  rich  to  say.  c  go  and  work  ! '  and  how  difficult  to  know  how 
and  where  !" 

Belaccueil  looked  at  his  friend  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had  justified 
his  own  despair,  and  expected  no  comfort. 


42  TREASURED  INSULT. 


"  Why  not  try  matrimony  ?"  said  St.  Leger.  "  I  can  pro 
vide  you  the  means  for  a  six  months'  siege,  and  you  have  better 
qualification  for  success  than  nine-tenths  of  the  adventurers  who 
have  succeeded." 

"  Why — I  could  do  even  that — for,  with  all  hope  of  prosperity, 
I  have  of  course  given  up  all  idea  of  a  romantic  love.  But  I 
could  not  practise  deceit,  and,  without  pretending  to  some  little 
fortune  of  my  own,  the  chances  are  small.  Besides,  you  re 
member  my  ill  luck  at  Naples." 

"  Ah,  that  was  a  love  affair,  and  you  were  too  honest." 

"  Not  for  the  girl,  God  bless  her !  She  would  have  married 
me,  penniless  as  I  was,  but  through  the  interference  of  that 
officious  and  purse-proud  Englishman,  her  friends  put  me  hors  de 
combat." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?     Was  he  a  relative  ? '' 

"  A  mere  chance  acquaintance  of  their  own,  but  he  entered  at 
once  upon  the  office  of  family  adviser.  He  was  rich,  and  he  had 
it  in  his  power  to  call  me  an  u  adventurer."  I  did  not  discover  his 
interference  till  some  time  after,  or  he  would  perhaps  have  paid 
dearly  for  his  nomenclature." 

"  Who  did  you  say  it  was  ? " 

"  Hitchings !  Mr.  Plantagenet  Hitchings,  of  Hitchings  Park, 
Devonshire — and  the  one  point,  to  which  I  cling,  of  a  gentleman's 
privileges,  is  that  of  calling  him  to  account,  should  I  ever  meet 
him." 

St.  Leger  smiled  and  sat  thoughtfully  silent  for  a  while. 
Belaccueil  pulled  apart  the  stems  of  a  bunch  of  grapes  on  his 
plate,  and  was  silent  with  a  very  different  expression. 

"  You  are  willing,"  said  the  former,  at  last,  "  to  teach  music 
and  dancing,  for  a  proper  compensation  r" 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  48 


«  Parbleu  !     Yes  !" 

"  And  if  you  could  unite  this  mode  of  support  with  a  very 
pretty  revenge  upon  Mr.  Plantagenet  Hitchings  (with  whom,  by 
the  way,  I  am  very  well  acquainted),  you  would  not  object  to  the 
two-fold  thread  in  your  destiny  ?" 

"  They  would  bo  threads  of  gold,  man  ami  /"  said  the  surprised 
Belaccueil. 

St.  Leger  called  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  wrote  a  letter  at 
the  Blue  Posts,  which  the  reader  will  follow  to  its  destination,  as 
the  next  step  in  this  story. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A  GREEN  angel  (I  mean  an  angel  ignorant  of  the  world)  would 
probably  suppose  that  the  feeding  of  these  animal  bodies  of  ours, 
if  not  done  in  secret,  must  at  least  be  the  one  act  of  human  life 
separated  entirely  from  the  more  heavenly  emotions.  Yet  the 
dinner  is  a  meal  dear  to  lovers  ;  and  novelists  and  tale-tellers 
choose  the  moments  stolen  from  fork  and  plate  for  the  birth  and 
interchange  of  the  most  delicious  and  tender  sentiments  of  our 
existence.  Miss  Hitchings,  while  unconsciously  shocking  Mon 
sieur  Sansou  by  tilting  her  soup-plate  for  the  last  spoonful  of  ver 
micelli,  was  controlling  the  beating  of  a  heart  full  of  feminine  and 
delicate  tenderness ;  and,  as  the  tutor  was  careful  never  to  direct 
his  regards  to  the  other  end  of  the  table  (for  reasons  of  his  own), 

O  ^ 

Miss  Henrietta  laid  the  unction  to  her  soul  that  such  indifference 
to  the  prettiest  girl  who  had  ever  honored  them  as  a  guest, 
proved  the  strength  of  her  own  magnet,  and  put  her  more  at  ease 


44  NEAR  MYSTERIES. 


on  the  subject  of  Monsieur  Sansou's  admiration.  He,  indeed,  was 
committing  the  common  fault  of  men  whose  manners  are  natur 
ally  agreeable — playing  that  passive  and  grateful  game  of  cour 
tesy  and  attention  so  easy  to  the  object  of  regard,  and  so  delight 
ful  to  woman,  who  is  never  so  blest  as  in  bestowing.  Besides,  he 
had  an  object  in  suppressing  his  voice  to  the  lowest  audible  pitch, 
and  the  rich  and  deep  tone,  sunk  only  to  escape  the  ear  of 
another,  sounded,  to  the  watchful  and  desiring  sense  of  her  to 
whom  it  was  addressed,  like  the  very  key-note  and  harmony  of 
affection. 

At  a  table  so  surrounded  with  secrets,  conversation  flagged,  of 
course.  Mr.  Hitchings  thought  it  very  up-hill  work  to  entertain 
Miss  Hervey,  whose  heart  and  senses  were  completely  absorbed 
in  the  riddle  of  BelaccueiPs  disguise  and  presence  ;  Mr.  Hervey, 
the  uncle,  found  old  Mrs.  Plantagenet  rather  absent,  for  the 
smitten  dame  had  eyes  for  every  movement  of  Monsieur  Sansou  ; 
and  the  tutor  himself,  with  his  resentment  toward  his  host,  and 
his  suspicions  of  the  love  of  his  daughter,  his  reviving  passion  for 
Miss  Hervey,  and  his  designs  on  Mrs.  Plantagenet,  had  enough 
to  render  him  as  silent  as  the  latter  could  wish,  and  as  apparently 
insensible  to  the  attraction  of  the  fair  stranger. 

How  little  we  know  what  is  in  the  bosoms  of  those  around  us  ! 
How  natural  it  is,  however,  to  feel  and  act  as  if  we  knew — to 
account  for  all  that  appears  on  the  surface  by  the  limited 
acquaintance  we  have  with  circumstances  and  feelings — to 
resent  an  indifference  of  which  we  know  not  the  cause — to  ap 
prove  or  condemn,  without  allowance  for  chagrin,  or  despair,  or 
love,  or  hope,  or  distress — any  of  the  deep  undercurrents  for 
ever  at  work  in  the  depths  of  human  bosoms.  The  young  man 
at  your  side  at  a  dinner-party  may  have  a  duel  on  his  hands  for 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  45 


the  morning,  or  a  disgrace  imminent  in  credit  or  honor,  or  a  re 
fused  heart  or  an  accepted  one,  newly  crushed  or  newly  made 
happy  ;  or  (more  common  still,  and  less  allowed  for)  he  may 
feel  the  first  impression  of  disease,  or  the  consequences  of  an  indi 
gestion  ;  and  for  his  agreeableness  or  disagreeableness,  you  try  to 
account  by  something  in  yourself,  some  feeling  toward  yourself — 
as  if  you,  and  you  only,  could  affect  his  spirits  or  give  a  color  to 
his  mood  of  manners.  The  old  man's  thought  of  death,  the 
mother's  overwhelming  interest  in  her  child,  the  woman's  up- 
spring  of  emotion  or  love,  are  visitors  to  the  soul  that  come 
unbidden  and  out  of  time,  and  you  can  neither  feast  nor  mourn, 
secure  against  their  interruption.  It  would  explain  many  a 
coldness,  could  we  look  into  the  heart  concealed  from  us.  We 
should  often  pity  when  we  hate,  love  when  we  think  we  cannot 
even  forgive,  admire  where  we  curl  the  lip  with  scorn  and  indig 
nation.  To  judge  without  reserve  of  any  human  action  is  a  cul 
pable  temerity,  of  all  our  sins  the  most  unfeeling  and  frequent. 

I  will  deal  frankly  with  you,  dear  reader.  I  have  arrived  at  a 
stage  of  my  story  which,  of  all  the  stages  of  story-writing,  I  detest 
the  most  cordially.  Poets  have  written  about  the  difficulty  of 
beginning  a  story  (vide  Byron) — ecu  ne  me  coute  pas  ;  others  of 
the  ending — that  I  do  with  facility,  joy,  and  rejoicing.  But 
the  love  pathos  of  a  story — the  place  where  the  reader  is  expected 
to  sigh,  weep,  or  otherwise  express  his  emotion — that  is  the  point, 
I  confess,  the  most  difficult  to  write,  and  the  most  unsatisfactory 
when  written.  "  Pourquoy,  Sir  Knight  ?"  Not  because  it  is 
difficult  to  write  love-scenes — according  to  the  received  mode — 
not  that  it  is  difficult  to  please  those  (a  large  majority)  who  never 
truly  loved,  and  whose  ideas,  therefore,  of  love  and  its  making, 
are  transcendentalized  out  of  all  truth  and  nature — not  that  it 


46  TRUTH  IN  LOVE-SCENES. 

would  be  more  labor  to  do  this  than  to  copy  a  circular,  or  write  a 
love-letter  for  a  modest  swain  (this  last  my  besetting  occupation) 
— but  because,  just  over  the  inkstand,  there  peers  a  face,  some 
times  of  a  man  of  forty,  past  the  nonsense  of  life,  but  oftener  of 
some  friend,  a  woman  who  has  loved,  and  this  last  more  particu 
larly  knows  that  true  love  is  never  readable  or  sensible — that  if 
its  language  be  truly  written,  it  is  never  in  polished  phrase  or 
musical  cadence — that  it  is  silly,  but  for  its  concealed  meaning, 
embarrassed  and  blind,  but  for  the  interpreting  and  wakeful  heart 
of  one  listener— that  love,  in  short,  is  the  god  of  unintelligibly, 
mystery,  and  adorable  nonsense,  and,  of  course,  that  which  I 
have  written  (if  readable  and  sensible)  is  out  of  taste  and  out  of 
sympathy,  and  none  but  fancy-lovers  and  enamored  brains  (not 
hearts)  will  approve  or  believe  it. 

D'Israeli  the  younger  is  one  of  the  few  men  of  genius  who, 
having  seen  truth  without  a  veil,  dare  to  reveal  the  vision ;  and 
he  has  written  Henrietta  Temple— the  silliest  yet  truest  love- 
book  of  modern  time.  The  critics  (not  an  amative  race)  have 
given  him  a  benefit  of  the  "  besom"  of  ridicule,  but  D'Israeli,  far 
from  being  the  effeminate  intellect  they  would  make  him,  is  one 
of  the  most  original  and  intrepid  men  of  genius  living,  and 
whether  the  theme  be  "  wine,  woman,  or  war,"  he  writes  with 
fearless  truth,  piquancy,  and  grace.  Books  on  love,  however, 
should  be  read  by  lovers  only,  and  pity  it  is  that  there  is  not  an 
ink  in  chemistry,  invisible  save  to  the  eye  kindled  with  amatory 
fire.  But  "  to  our  muttons." 

It  was  not  leap-year,  but  Monsieur  Belaccueil,  on  the  day  of 
the  dinner-party  at  Hitchings  park,  was  made  aware  (I  will  not 
say  by  proposals,  for  ladies  make  known  their  inclinations  in  ways 
much  less  formidable) — he  was  made  aware,  I  say,  that  the  hearts 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  47 

of  three  of  the  party  were  within  the  flight  of  his  arrow.  Proba 
bly  his  humble  situation  reversed  the  usual  relative  position  of 
the  sexes  in  the  minds  of  the  dame  and  damsels — and  certainly 
tiiere  is  no  power  woman  exercises  so  willingly  as  a  usurpation  of 
the  masculine  privilege.  I  have  stated  my  objection  to  detail  the 
dialogue  between  Miss  Hitchings  and  her  tutor  at  the  dinner- 
table.  To  be  recorded  faithfully,  'the  clatter  of  silver  forks  on 
China,  the  gurgle  of  wine,  the  interruptions  of  the  footmen  with 
champagne  and  vegetables,  should  all  be  literally  interspersed — 
for,  to  all  the  broken  sentences,  (so  pathetic  when  properly  punctu 
ated — vide  Neal's  novels)  these  were  the  sequels  and  the  accom 
paniments  :  "  No,  thank  you  !"  and  "  If  you  please,"  and  "  May 
I  fill  your  glass  ?" — have  filled  out,  to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of 
the  lady,  many  an  unfinished  sentence  upon  which  depended  the 
whole  destiny  of  her  affections  ;  and,  as  I  said  before,  the  truth  is 
not  faithfully  rendered  when  these  interstices  are  unsupplied. 

It  was  dark  when  the  ladies  left  the  dinner-table,  followed  by 
Monsieur  Sansou,  and,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet  from  the 
windows  opening  on  the  lawn,  the  air  was  black  and  impenetrable. 
There  were  no  stars  visible  and  no  moon,  but  the  clouds  which 
were  gathering  after  a  drought,  seemed  to  hush  the  air  with  their 
long  expected  approach,  and  it  was  one  of  those  soft,  still,  yet 
murky  and  fragrant  nights,  when  the  earth  seems  to  breathe  only — 
without  light,  sound,  or  motion.  What  lover  does  not  remember 
such  a  night  ? 

Oppressed  with  the  glaring  lights  and  the  company  of  people 
she  cared  nothing  about,  Miss  Hervey  stepped  out  upon  the  lawn, 
and,  with  her  face  lifted  as  if  to  draw  deeper  inhalations  of  the 
dew  and  freshness,  she  strolled  leisurely  over  the  smooth  carpet 
of  grass.  At  a  slight  turn  to  avoid  a  clump  of  shrubbery,  she 


48  A  WIDOW'S  PROPOSAL. 


encountered  Belaccueil,  who  was  apologizing  and  about  to  pass 
her,  when  she  called  him  by  his  name,  and  passing  her  arm 
through  his,  led  him  on  to  the  extremity  of  the  lawn.  A  wire  fence 
arrested  their  progress,  and,  leaning  against  it,  Miss  Hervey 
inquired  into  the  cause  of  the  disguise  she  had  penetrated,  and 
softened  and  emboldened  by  the  fragrant  darkness,  said  all  that  a 
woman  might  say  of  tenderness  and  encouragement.  Belaccueil's 
heart  beat  with  pride  and  gratified  amour  propre,  but  he  con 
fined  himself  to  the  expression  of  this  feeling,  and,  leaving  the 
subject  open,  took  advantage  of  Mrs.  Plantagenet's  call  to  Miss 
Hervey  from  the  window,  to  leave  her  and  resume  his  ramble 
through  the  grounds. 

The  supper  tray  had  been  brought  in,  and  the  party  were  just 
taking  their  candles  to  separate,  when  the  tutor  entered  at  the 
glass  door  and  arrested  the  steps  of  Mrs.  Plantagenet.  She  set 
down  her  candle  and  courtesied  a  good-night  to  the  ladies  (Mr. 
Hitchings  had  gone  to  bed,  for  wine  made  him  sleepy,  and  Mr. 
Hervey  always  retired  early — where  he  was  bored),  and,  closing 
the  windows,  mixed  a  glass  of  negus  for  Monsieur  Sansou ;  and, 
herself  pulling  a  sandwich  to  pieces,  deliberately,  and  it  must  be 
confessed,  somewhat  patronisingly,  invited  the  Frenchman  to 
become  her  lord.  And  after  a  conversation,  which  (la  verite 
avant  tout)  turned  mainly  on  will  and  investments,  the  widow 
dame  sailed  blissfully  to  bed,  and  Belaccueil  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  his  friend  and  adviser  : 

a  MY  DEAR  ST.  LEGER  :  Enclosed  you  have  the  only  surviving 
lock  of  my  grizzled  wig — sign  and  symbol  that  my  disguises  are 
over  and  my  object  attained.  The  wig  burns  at  this  instant  in 
the  grate,  item  my  hand-ruffles,  item  sundry  embroidered  cravats 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD. 


d  la  veille  cour,  item  (this  last  not  without  some  trouble  at  my 
heart)  a  solitary  love-token  from  Constantia  Hervey.  One  faded 
rose — given  me  at  Psestum,  the  day  before  I  was  driven  disgraced 
from  her  presence  by  the  interference  of  this  insolent  fool — one 
faded  rose  has  crisped  and  faded  into  smoke  with  the  rest.  And 
so  fled  from  the  world  the  last  hope  of  a  warm  and  passionate 
heart,  which  never  gave  up  its  destiny  till  now — never  felt  that 
it  was  made  in  vain,  guarded,  refined,  cherished  in  vain,  till  that 
long-loved  flower  lay  in  ashes.  I  am  accustomed  to  strip  emotion 
of  its  drapery — determined  to  feel  nothing  but  what  is  real — yet 
this  moment,  turn  it  and  strip  it,  and  deny  its  illusions  as  I  will, 
is  anguish.  '  Self-inflicted,'  you  smile  and  say  ! 

"  You  will  marvel  what  stars  will  not  come  into  conjunction, 
when  I  tell  you  that  Miss  Hervey  is  at  this  moment  under  the 
same  roof  with  me  and  my  affianced  bride,  and  you  will  marvel 
what  good  turn  I  have  done  the  devil,  that  he  should,  in  one  day, 
offer  me  my  enemy's  daughter,  my  enemy's  fortune  (with  the 
drawback  of  an  incumbrance),  and  the  woman  who  I  thought  had 
spurned  me.  After  all,  it  is  a  devil's  gift — for,  in  choosing  that 
to  which  I  am  most  impelled,  I  crush  hope,  and  inflict  pain,  and 
darken  my  own  heart  for  ever.  I  could  not  have  done  this  once. 
Manhood  and  poverty  have  embittered  me. 

"  Miss  Hitchings  has  chosen  to  fall  in  love  with  her  tutor. 
She  is  seventeen,  a  sweet  blonde,  with  large,  suffused  eyes,  ten 
der,  innocent,  and  (without  talent)  singularly  earnest  and  con 
fiding.  I  could  be  very  happy  with  such  a  woman,  and  it  would 
have  been  a  very  tolerable  revenge  (failing  the  other)  to  have 
stolen  her  from  her  father.  But  he  would  have  disinherited  and 
forgotten  us,  and  I  have  had  enough  of  poverty,  and  can  not 
afford  to  be  forgotten — by  my  enemy. 
3 


50  REVENGE  STRONGER  THAN  LOVE. 


"  You  never  saw  Miss  Hervey.  It  is  not  much  to  tell  you  she 
is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  met.  If  she  were  not  beau 
tiful,  her  manners  would  win  all  hearts.  If  her  manners  were 
less  fascinating,  her  singular  talents  would  make  her  remarkable. 
She  is  not  appreciated,  because  her  beauty  blinds  people  to  her 
talents,  and  her  manners  make  them  forget  her  beauty.  She  is 
something  in  the  style  of  the  Giorgione  we  adored  at  Venice — a 
transparently  dark  beauty,  with  unfathomable  eyes  and  lashes  that 
sweep  her  cheek ;  her  person  tall  and  full,  and  her  neck  set  on 
like  Zenobia's.  Yet  she  is  not  a  proud  woman — I  think  she  is 
not.  She  is  too  natural  and  true  to  do  anything  which  looks  like 
pride,  save  walk  like  an  empress.  She  says  everything  rightly — 
penetrates  instantly  to  the  core  of  meaning — sings,  dances,  talks, 
with  the  ease,  confidence,  grace,  faultlessness,  with  which  a  swal 
low  flies.  Perfection  in  all  things  is  her  nature.  I  am  jotting 
down  her  qualities  now  as  they  are  allowed  by  the  world.  I  will 
not  write  of  them  like  a  lover.  Oh,  my  friend,  with  what  plum 
met  can  you  fathom  the  depth  of  my  resentments,  when,  for 
them,  I  forego  possession  of  this  woman  !  She  offered  me,  two 
hours  since,  the  unqualified  control  of  her  destiny  !  She  asked 
me,  with  tremulous  voice,  to  forgive  her  for  the  wrong  done  me 
in  Italy.  She  dropped  that  faultless  and  superb  head  on  my 
bosom,  and  told  me  that  she  loved  me — and  I  never  answered  ! 
The  serpent  in  my  heart  tied  up  my  tongue,  and,  with  cold  thanks 
and  fiend-like  resistance  to  the  bliss  of  even  once  pressing  her  to 
my  bosom,  I  left  her.  I  do  not  know  myself  when  I  remember 
that  I  have  done  this.  I  am  possessed— driven  out— by  some 
hard  and  bitter  spirit  who  neither  acts  nor  speaks  like  me.  Yet 
could  I  not  undo  what  I  have  done. 

"To-morrow  morning  will  disappear  Monsieur  Sansou  from 


GETTING  TO  WINDWARD.  51 

Hitchings  park,  and,  on  the  brief  condition  of  a  brief  ceremony, 
the  law,  the  omnipotent  law,  will  deliver  into  my  hands  the  lands, 
tenements,  goods,  chattels,  and  liberty  of  my  enemy — for  even  so 
deeply  has  ho  sunk  into  the  open  pocket  of  Mrs.  Plantagenet  ! 
She  holds  mortgages  on  all  he  has,  for  money  advanced,  and  all 
that  is  hers  will  be  mine,  without  reserve.  The  roof  I  have  been 
living  in  degradation  under,  will  be  to-morrow  my  own.  The 
man  who  called  me  an  adventurer,  who  stood  between  me  and 
my  love,  who  thrust  me  from  my  heaven  without  cause  or  provo 
cation — the  meddling  fool  who  boasts  that  he  saved  a  country 
woman  from  a  French  swindler  (he  has  recurred  to  it  often  in  my 
presence),  will  be,  to-morrow,  my  dependant,  beggar  for  shelter, 
suppliant  for  his  liberty  and  subsistence  !  Do  you  ask  if  that  out 
weighs  the  love  of  the  woman  I  have  lost  ?  Alas  !  yes. 

"  You  are  older,  and  have  less  taste  for  sentiment  even  than  I. 
I  will  not  bore  you  with  my  crowd  of  new  feelings  in  this  situa 
tion.  My  future  wife  is  amiable  and  good.  She  is  also  vain, 
unattractive,  and  old.  I  shall  be  kind  to  her,  and  endeavor  that 
she  shall  not  be  disenchanted,  and,  if  I  can  make  her  happy,  it 
may  mollify  my  penance  for  the  devil  with  which  I  am  possessed. 
Miss  Hitchings  will  lose  nothing  by  having  loved  me,  for  she  shall 

be  the  heiress  of  my  wealth,  and  her  father but  I  will  not  soil 

my  heart  by  thinking  of  an  alleviation  to  his  downfall. 
"  Farewell,  mon  ami.     Congratulate  and  pity  me. 

"  ADOLPHE  BELACCUEIL." 

In  one  of  the  most  fashionable  squares  of  London  lives,  "  in  the 
season,"  Monsieur  Belaccueil,  one  of  the  most  hospitable  foreign 
ers  in  that  great  metropolis.  He  is  a  pensive  and  rather  melan 
choly-looking  man  by  day ;  but  society,  which  he  seems  to  seek 


52  VALUE  OF  ATTAINED  OBJECTS. 


like  an  opiate  to  restless  feeling,  changes  him  to  a  gay  man,  the 
most  mirth-loving  of  Amphytrions.  His  establishment  is  presided 
over  by  his  wife,  who,  as  his  society  is  mostly  French,  preserves 
a  respectable  silence,  but  seems  contented  with  her  lot,  and  proud 
of  her  husband ;  while  in  Miss  Plantagenet  (d-derant  Miss 
Hitchings)  his  guests  find  his  table's  chief  attraction — one  of  the 
prettiest  heiresses  and  most  loveable  girls  in  London.  How 
deeply  Monsieur  Belaccueil  still  rejoices  at  his  success  in  "  getting 
to  windward,"  is  a  matter  of  problem.  Certainly  there  is  one 
chariot  which  passes  him  in  his  solitary  ride  in  the  park,  to  which 
he  bows  with  a  pang  of  unabating  and  miserable  anguish.  And,  if 
the  occupant  of  that  plain  chariot  share  at  all  in  his  suffering,  she 
has  not  the  consolation  to  which  he  flies  in  society — for  a  more 
secluded  and  lonely  woman  lives  not  in  the  great  solitude  of  Lon 
don,  than  Constantia  Hervey. 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL, 


u  FIVE  hundred  dollars  a  year !"  echoed  Fanny  Bellairs,  as 
the  first  silver  grey  of  the  twilight  spread  over  her  picture. 

"  And  my  art,"  modestly  added  the  painter,  prying  into  his 
bright  copy  of  the  lips  pronouncing  upon  his  destiny. 

"  And  how  much  may  that  be,  at  the  present  rate  of  patronage 
— one  picture  a  year,  painted  for  love  !" 

"  Fanny,  how  can  you  be  so  calculating  !" 

a  By  the  bumps  over  my  eyebrows,  I  suppose.  Why,  my 
dear  coz,  we  have  another  state  of  existence  to  look  forward  to — 
old  man -age  and  old  woman-age  !  What  am  I  to  do  with  five 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  when  my  old  frame  wants  gilding — (to 
use  one  of  your  own  similes) — I  shan't  always  be  pretty  Fanny 
Bellairs !  " 

"  But,  good  Heavens  !  we  shall  grow  old  together  !"  exclaimed 
the  painter,  sitting  down  at  her  feet,  "  and  what  will  you  care 
for  other  admiration,  if  your  husband  see  you  still  beautiful,  with 
the  eyes  of  memory  and  habit." 

"  Even  if  I  were  sure  he  would  so  look  upon  me  !"  answered 
Miss  Bellairs,  more  seriously,  "  I  can  not  but  dread  an  old  age 
without  great  means  of  embellishment.  Old  people,  except  in 


54  PRACTICAL  LOVE. 


poetry  and  in  very  primitive  society,  are  dishonored  by  wants 
and  cares.  And,  indeed,  before  we  are  old — when  neither  young 
nor  old — we  want  horses  and  ottomans,  kalydor  and  conserva 
tories,  books,  pictures,  and  silk  curtains — all  quite  out  of  the 
range  of  your  little  allowance,  don't  you  see  !" 

"  You  do  not  love  me,  Fanny  !" 

"  I  do — and  will  marry  you,  Philip — as  I,  long  ago,  with  my 
whole  heart,  promised.  But  I  wish  to  be  happy  with  you — as 
naPPy>  quite  as  happy?  as  is  at  all  possible,  with  our  best  efforts, 
and  coolest,  discreetest  management.  I  laugh  the  matter  over 
sometimes,  but  I  may  tell  you,  since  you  are  determined  to  be  in 
earnest,  that  I  have  treated  it,  in  my  solitary  thought,  as  the  one 
important  event  of  my  life — (so  indeed  it  is !)— and,  as  such, 
worthy  of  all  fore-thought,  patience,  self-denial,  and  calculation. 
To  inevitable  ills  I  can  make  up  my  mind  like  other  people.  If 
your  art  were  your  only  hope  of  subsistence — why — I  don't 
know— (should  I  look  well  as  a  page  ?)— I  don't  know  that  I 
couldn't  run  your  errands  and  grind  your  paints  in  hose  and 
doublet.  But  there  is  another  door  open  for  you — a  counting- 
house  door,  to  be  sure — leading  to  opulence  and  all  the  appliances 
of  dignity  and  happiness,  and  through  this  door,  my  dear  Philip, 
the  art  you  would  live  by  comes  to  pay  tribute  and  beg  for 
patronage.  Now,  out  of  your  hundred  and  twenty  reasons,  give 
me  the  two  stoutest  and  best,  why  you  should  refuse  your  brother's 
golden  offer  of  partnership — my  share,  in  your  alternative  of 
poverty,  left  for  the  moment  out  of  the  question." 

Rather  overborne  by  the  confident  decision  of  his  beautiful 
Cousin,  and  having  probably  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must 
ultimately  yield  to  her,  Philip  replied  in  a  lower  and  more 
dejected  tone : — 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  55 

"  If  you  were  not  to  be  a  sharer  in  my  renown,  should  I  be  so 
fortunate  as  to  acquire  it,  I  should  feel  as  if  it  were  selfish  to 
dwell  so  much  on  my  passion  for  distinction,  and  my  devotion  to 
my  pencil  as  the  means  of  winning  it.  My  heart  is  full  of  you — 
but  it  is  full  of  ambition,  too,  paradox  though  it  be.  I  cannot 
live  ignoble.  I  should  not  have  felt  worthy  to  press  my  love  upon 
you — worthy  to  possess  you — except  with  the  prospect  of  cele 
brity  in  my  art.  You  make  the  world  dark  to  me,  Fanny  !  You 
close  down  the  sky,  when  you  shut  out  this  hope  !  Yet  it  shall 
be  so." 

Philip  paused  a  moment,  and  the  silence  was  uninterrupted. 

"  There  was  another  feeling  I  had,  upon  which  I  have  not 
insisted,"  he  continued.  By  my  brother's  project,  I  am  to  reside 
almost  wholly  abroad.  Even  the  little  stipend  I  have  to  offer  you 
now  is  absorbed  of  course  by  the  investment  of  my  property  in  his 
trading  capital,  and  marriage,  till  I  have  partly  enriched  myself, 
would  be  even  more  hopeless  than  at  present.  Say  the  interval 
were  five  years — and  five  years  of  separation  !" 

"  With  happiness  in  prospect,  it  would  soon  pass,  my  dear 
Philip  !" 

"  But  is  there  nothing  wasted  in  this  time  ?  My  life  is  yours 
— the  gift,  of  love.  Are  not  these  coming  five  years  the  very 
flower  of  it ! — a  mutual  loss,  too,  for  are  they  not,  even  more 
emphatically,  the  very  flower  of  yours  ?  Eighteen  and  twenty- 
five  are  ages  at  which  to  marry,  not  ages  to  defer.  During  this 
time  the  entire  flow  of  my  existence  is  at  its  crowning  fullness — 
passion,  thought,  joy,  tenderness,  susceptibility  to  beauty  and 
sweetness— all  I  have  that  can  be  diminished  or  tarnished,  or 
made  dull  by  advancing  age  and  contact  with  the  world,  is  thrown 
away— for  its  spring  and  summor.  Will  tho  autumn  of  life  repay 


56  LOVE  OR  WEALTH. 

us  for  this  ?  Will  it — even  if  we  are  rich  and  blest  with  health, 
and  as  capable  of  an  unblemished  union  as  now  ?  Think  of  this 
a  moment,  dear  Fanny  !" 

«  I  do — it  is  full  of  force  and  meaning,  and,  could  we  marry 
now,  with  a  tolerable  prospect  of  competency,  it  would  be 
irresistible.  But  poverty  in  wedlock,  Philip — " 

"  What  do  you  call  poverty  !  If  we  can  suffice  for  each  other, 
and  have  the  necessaries  of  life,  we  are  not  poor  !  My  art  will 
bring  us  consideration  enough — which  is  the  main  end  of  wealth, 
after  all— and,  of  society,  speaking  for  myself  only,  I  want 
nothing.  Luxuries  for  yourself,  Fanny — means  for  your  dear 
comfort  and  pleasure — you  should  not  want  if  the  world  held  them, 
and  surely  the  unbounded  devotion  of  one  man  to  the  support  of 
the  one  woman  he  loves,  ought  to  suffice  for  the  task !  I  am 
strong— I  am  capable  of  labor — I  have  limbs  to  toil,  if  my  genius 
and  my  present  means  fail  me,  and,  oh,  Heaven  !  you  could  not 
want !" 

"No,  no,  no!  I  thought  not  of  want!"  murmured  Miss 
Bellairs,  "  I  thought  only — " 

But  she  was  not  permitted  to  finish  the  sentence. 

"  Then  my  bright  picture  for  the  future  may  be  realized  !"  ex 
claimed  Philip,  knitting  his  hands  together  in  a  transport  of  hope. 
"  I  may  build  up  a  reputation,  with  you  for  the  constant  partner 
of  its  triumphs  and  excitements  !  I  may  go  through  the  world, 
and  have  some  care  in  life  besides  subsistence,  how  I  shall  sleep, 
and  eat,  and  accumulate  gold ;  sonic  companion,  who,  from  the 
threshold  of  manhood,  shared  every  thought — and  knew  every 
feeling — some  pure  and  present  angel  who  walked  with  me  and 
purified  my  motives  and  ennobled  my  ambitions,  and  received 
from  ray  lips  and  eyes,  and  from  thp.  beating  of  my  heart  against 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A   WELL.  57 

her  own,  all  the  love  I  had  to  give  in  a  lifetime.  Tell  me, 
Fanny  !  tell  me,  my  sweet  cousin  !  is  not  this  a  picture  of  bliss, 
which,  combined  with  success  in  my  noble  art,  might  make  a 
Paradise  on  earth  for  you  and  me  ?" 

The  hand  of  Fanny  Bellairs  rested  on  the  upturned  forehead  of 
her  lover  as  he  sat  at  her  feet  in  the  deepening  twilight,  and  she 
answered  him  with  such  sweet  words  as  are  linked  together  by 
spells  known  only  to  woman— but  his  palette  and  pencils  were, 
nevertheless,  burned  in  solemn  holocaust  that  very  night,  and  the 
lady  carried  her  point,  as  ladies  must.  And,  to  the  importation  of 
silks  from  Lyons,  was  devoted,  thenceforth,  the  genius  of  a  Raphael 
— perhaps  !  Who  knows  ? 

The  reader  will  naturally  have  gathered  from  this  dialogue 
that  Miss  Fanny  Bellairs  had  black  eyes,  and  was  rather  below 
the  middle  stature.  She  was  a  belle,  and  it  is  only  belle-metal  of 
this  particular  description  which  is  not  fusible  by  "  burning 
words."  She  had  mind  enough  to  appreciate  fully  the  romance 
and  enthusiasm  of  her  cousin,  Philip  Ballister,  and  knew  precisely 
the  phenomena  which  a  tall  blonde  (this  complexion  of  woman 
being  soluble  in  love  and  tears),  would  have  exhibited  under  a 
similar  experiment,  While  the  fire  of  her  love  glowed,  therefore, 
she  opposed  little  resistance,  and  seemed  softened  and  yielding, 
but  her  purpose  remained  unaltered,  and  she  rang  out  "no!" 
the  next  morning,  with  a  tone  as  little  changed  as  a  convent-bell 
from  matins  to  vespers,  though  it  has  passed  meantime  through 
the  furnace  of  an  Italian  noon. 

Fanny  was  not  a  designing  girl,  either.  She  might  have  found 
a  wealthier  customer  for  her  heart  than  her  cousin  Philip.  And 
she  loved  this  cousin  as  truly  and  well  as  her  nature  would  admit, 

3* 


53  ART  FOREGONE. 


or  as  need  be,  indeed.  But  two  things  had  conspired  to  give  her 
the  unmalleable  quality  just  described — a  natural  disposition  to 
confide,  first  and  foremost,  on  all  occasions,  in  her  own  sagacity, 
and  a  vivid  impression  made  upon  her  mind  by  a  childhood  of 
poverty.  At  the  age  of  twelve  she  had  been  transferred  from  the 
distressed  fireside  of  her  mother,  Mrs.  Bellairs,  to  the  luxurious 
roof  of  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Ballister,  and,  her  mother  dying  soon  after, 
the  orphan  girl  was  adopted,  and  treated  as  a  child ;  but  the 
memory  of  the  troubled  hearth  at  which  she  had  first  learned  to 
observe  and  reason,  colored  all  the  purposes  and  affections, 
thoughts,  impulses,  and  wishes  of  the  ripening  girl,  and  to  think 
of  happiness  in  any  proximity  to  privation  seemed  to  her  impos 
sible,  even  though  it  were  in  the  bosom  of  love.  Seeing  no 
reason  to  give  her  cousin  credit  for  any  knowledge  of  the  world 
beyond  his  own  experience,  she  decided  to  think  for  him  as  well 
as  love  him,  and,  not  being  so  much  pressed  as  the  enthusiastic 
painter  by  the  "  lesoin  iV  aimer  ct  de  sefairc  aimer,"  she  very 
composedly  prefixed,  to  the  possession  of  her  hand,  the  trifling 
achievement  of  getting  rich — quite  sure  that  if  he  knew  as  much 
as  she,  he  would  willingly  run  that  race  without  the  incumbrance 
of  matrimony. 

The  death  of  Mr.  Ballister,  senior,  had  left  the  widow  and  her 
two  boys  more  slenderly  provided  for  than  was  anticipated — Phil's 
portion,  after  leaving  college,  producing  the  moderate  income 
before  mentioned.  The  elder  brother  had  embarked  in  his  father's 
business,  and  it  was  thought  best  on  all  hands  for  the  youngei 
Ballister  to  follow  his  example.  But  Philip,  whose  college  leisure 
had  been  devoted  to  poetry  and  painting,  and  whose  genius  foi 
the  latter,  certainly,  was  very  decided,  brought  down  his  habit' 
by  a  resolute  economy  to  the  limits  of  his  income,  and  took  uj 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  59 

the  pencil  for  a  profession.  With  passionate  enthusiasm,  great 
purity  of  character,  distaste  for  all  society  not  in  harmony  with 
his  favorite  pursuit,  and  an  industry  very  much  concentrated  and 
rendered  effective  by  abstemious  habits,  Philip  Ballister  was  very 
likely  to  develop  what  genius  might  lie  between  his  head  and 
hand,  and  his  progress  in  the  first  year  had  been  allowed,  by 
eminent  artists,  to  give  very  unusual  promise.  The  Ballisters 
were  still  together,  under  the  maternal  roof,  and  the  painter's 
studies  were  the  portraits  of  the  family,  and  Fanny's  picture,  of 
course,  much  the  most  difficult  to  finish.  It  would  be  very  hard 
if  a  painter's  portrait  of  his  liege  mistress,  the  lady  of  his  heart, 
were  not  a  good  picture,  and  Fanny  Bellairs  on  canvas  was  divine 
accordingly.  If  the  copy  had  more  softness  of  expression  than 
the  original  (as  it  was  thought  to  have),  it  only  proves  that  wise 
men  have  for  some  time  suspected,  that  love  is  more  dumb  than 
blind,  and  the  faults  of  our  faultless  idols  are  noted,  however 
unconsciously.  Neither  thumb-screws  nor  hot  coals — nothing 
probably  but  repentance  after  matrimony — would  have  drawn 
from  Philip  Ballister,  in  words,  the  same  correction  of  his 
mistress's  foible  that  had  oozed  out  through  his  treacherous 
pencil ! 

Cupid  is  often  drawn  as  a  stranger  pleading  to  be  "  taken  in," 
but  it  is  a  miracle  that  he  is  not  invariably  drawn  as  a  portrait- 
painter.  A  bird  tied  to  the  muzzle  of  a  gun — an  enemy  who  has 
written  a  book — an  Indian  prince  under  the  protection  of 
Giovanni  Bulletto  (Tuscan  for  John  Bull), — is  not  more  close 
upon  demolition,  one  would  think,  than  the  heart  of  a  lady 
delivered  over  to  a  painter's  eyes,  posed,  draped  and  lighted  with 
the  one  object  of  studying  her  beauty.  If  there  be  any  mag 
netism  in  isolated  attention,  any  in  steadfast  gazing,  any  in  passes 


60  PAINTERS'   PRIVILEGES. 


of  the  hand  hither  and  thither — if  there  be  any  magic  in  ce  doux 
demi-jour  so  loved  in  France,  in  stuff  for  flattery  ready  pointed 
and  feathered,  in  freedom  of  admiration,  "  and  all  in  the  way  of 
business" — then  is  a  loveable  sitter  to  a  love-like  painter  in 
"  parlous  "  vicinity  (as  the  new  school  would  phrase  it),  to  sweet 
heart-land  !  Pleasure  in  a  vocation  has  no  offset  in  political 
economy  as  honor  has  ("  the  more  honor  the  less  profit,")  or 
portrait-painters  would  be  poorer  than  poets. 

And,  malgre  his  consciousness  of  the  quality  which  required 
softening  in  his  cousin's  beauty,  and  malgre  his  rare  advantages 
for  obtaining  over  her  a  lover's  proper  ascendency,  Mr.  Philip 
Ballister  bowed  to  the  stronger  will  of  Miss  Fanny  Bellairs,  and 
sailed  for  France  on  his  apprenticeship  to  Mammon. 


The  reader  will  please  to  advance  five  years.  Before  proceed 
ing  thence  with  our  story,  however,  let  us  take  a  Parthian  glance 
at  the  overstepped  interval. 

Philip  Ballister  had  left  New  York  with  the  triple  vow  that  he 
would  enslave  every  faculty  of  his  mind  and  body  to  business, 
that  he  would  not  return  till  he  had  made  a  fortune,  and  that 
such  interstices  as  might  occur  in  the  building  up  of  this  chateau 
for  felicity  should  be  filled  with  sweet  reveries  about  Fanny 
Bellairs.  The  forsworn  painter  had  genius,  as  we  have  before 
hinted,  and  genius  is  (as  much  as  it  is  any  one  thing),  the  power 
of  concentration.  He  entered  upon  his  duties  accordingly,  with  a 
force,  and  patience  of  application,  which  soon  made  him  master 
of  what  are  called  business  habits,  and,  once  in  possession  of  the 
details,  his  natural  cleverness  gave  him  a  speedy  insight  to  all  the 
scope  and  tactics  of  his  particular  field  of  trade.  Under  his 
guidance,  the  affairs  of  the  house  were  soon  in  a  much  more 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  61 

prosperous  train,  and,  after  a  year's  residence  at  Lyons,  Philip 
saw  his  way  very  clear  to  manage  them  with  a  long  arm  and  take 
up  his  quarters  in  Paris. 

"  Les  fats  sont  hs  seuls  hommes  qui  aunt  soin  cVeux  nemes," 
says  a  French  novelist,  but  there  is  a  period,  early  or  late,  in  the 
lives  of  the  cleverest  men,  when  they  become  suddenly  curious  as 
to  their  capacity  for  the  graces.  Paris,  to  a  stranger  who  does 
not  visit  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  is  a  republic  of  personal 
exterior,  where  the  degree  of  privilege  depends,  with  Utopian 
impartiality,  on  the  style  of  the  outer  man  ;  and  Paris,  therefore, 
if  he  is  not  already  a  Bachelor  of  Arts  (qu  ^—beau's  Arts), 
usually  serves  the  traveller  as  an  Alma  Mater  of  the  pomps  and 
vanities. 

Phil.  Ballister,  up  to  the  time  of  his  matriculation  in  Chaussee 
D'Antin,  was  a  romantic-looking  sloven.  From  this  to  a  very 
dashing  coxcomb  is  but  half  a  step,  and,  to  be  rid  of  the  coxcombry 
and  retain  a  look  of  fashion,  is  still  within  the  easy  limits  of  imita 
tion.  But — to  obtain  superiority  of  presence,  with  no  apparent 
aid  from  dress  and  no  doscribable  manner,  and  to  display,  at  the 
same  time,  every  natural  advantage  in  effective  relief,  and,  withal, 
to  adapt  this  subtle  philtre,  not  only  to  the  approbation  of  the 
critical  and  censorious,  but  to  the  taste  of  fair  women  gifted  with 
judgment  as  God  pleases — this  is  a  finish  not  born  with  any  man 
(though  unsuccessful  if  it  do  not  seem  to  be),  and  never  reached 
in  the  apprenticeship  of  life,  and  never  reached  at  all  by  men  not 
much  above  their  fellows.  He  who  has  it,  has  "  bought  his  doub 
let  in  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France,  his  bonnet  in  Germany, 
and  his  behavior  everywhere,"  for  he  must  know,  as  a  chart  of 
quicksands,  the  pronounced  models  of  other  nations  ;  but  to  be  a 
"  picked  man  of  countries,"  and  to  have  been  a  coxcomb  and  a 


Q2  STYLE  IN  A  MAN. 

man  of  fashion,  are,  as  a  painter  would  say,  but  the  setting  of  the 
palette  toward  the  making  of  the  chef-cPceuvre. 

Business  prospered,  and  the  facilities  of  leisure  increased,  while 
Ballister  passed  through  these  transitions  of  taste,  and  he  found 
intervals  to  travel,  and  time  to  read,  and  opportunity  to  indulge, 
as  far  as  he  could  with  the  eye  only,  his  passion  for  knowledge  in 
the  arts.  To  all  that  appertained  to  the  refinement  of  himself, 
he  applied  the  fine  feelers  of  a  delicate  and  passionate  construc 
tion,  physical  and  mental,  and,  as  the  reader  will  already  have 
included,  wasted  on  culture  comparatively  unprofitable,  faculties 
that  would  have  been  better  employed  but  for  the  meddling  of 
Miss  Fanny  Bellairs. 

Ballister's  return  from  France  was  heralded  by  the  arrival  of 
statuary  and  pictures,  books,  furniture,  and  numberless  articles  of 
tasteful  and  costly  luxury.  The  reception  of  these  by  the  family 
at  home  threw  rather  a  new  light  on  the  probable  changes  in  the 
long-absent  brother,  for,  from  the  signal  success  of  the  business 
he  had  managed,  they  had  very  naturally  supposed  that  it  was 
the  result  only  of  unr emitted  and  plodding  care.  Vague  rumors 
of  changes  in  his  personal  appearance  had  reached  them,  such  as 
might  be  expected  from  conformity  to  foreign  fashions,  but  those 
who  had  seen  Philip  Ballister  in  France,  and  called  subsequently 
on  the  family  in  New  York,  were  not  people  qualified  to  judge  of 
the  man,  either  from  their  own  powers  of  observation  or  from  any 
confidence  he  was  likely  to  put  forward  while  in  their  society. 
His  letters  had  been  delightful,  but  they  were  confined  to  third- 
person  topics,  descriptions  of  things  likely  to  interest  them,  &c., 
and  Fanny  had  few  addressed  personally  to  herself,  having  thought 
it  worth  while,  for  the  experiment  sake,  or  for  some  other  reason, 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  63 


to  see  whether  love  would  subsist  without  its  usual  pabulum  of 
tender  correspondence,  and  a  veto  on  love-letters  having  served 
her  for  a  parting  injunction  at  Phil's  embarkation  for  Havre. 
However  varied  by  their  different  fancies,  the  transformation 
looked  for  by  the  whole  family  was  substantially  the  same — the 
romantic  artist  sobered  down  to  a  practical,  plain  man  of  business. 
And  Fanny  herself  had  an  occasional  misgiving  as  to  her  relish 
for  his  counting-house  virtues  and  manners  ;  though,  on  the  detec 
tion  of  the  feeling,  she  immediately  closed  her  eyes  upon  it,  and 
drummed  up  her  delinquent  constancy  for  "  parade  and  inspec 
tion." 

All  bustles  are  very  much  alike  (we  use  the  word  as  defined  in 
Johnson),  and  the  reader  will  appreciate  our  delicacy,  besides,  in 
not  intruding  on  the  first  re-union  of  relatives  and  lovers  long 
separated. 

The  morning  after  Philip  Ballister's  arrival,  the  family  sat  long 
at  breakfast.  The  mother's  gaze  fastened  untiringly  on  the  fea 
tures  of  her  son — still  her  boy — prying  into  them  with  a  vain 
effort  to  reconcile  the  face  of  the  man  with  the  cherished  picture 
of  the  child  with  sunny  locks,  and  noting  little  else  than  the  work 
of  inward  change  upon  the  countenance  and  expression.  The 
brother,  with  the  predominant  feeling  of  respect  for  the  intelli 
gence  and  industry  of  one  who  had  made  the  fortunes  of  the 
house,  read  only  subdued  sagacity  in  the  perfect  simplicity  of  his 
whole  exterior.  And  Fanny — Fanny  was  puzzled.  The  bour 
geoisie  and  ledger-bred  hardness  of  manner  which  she  had  looked 
for  were  not  there,  nor  any  variety  of  the  "  foreign  slip-slop" 
common  to  travelled  youth,  nor  any  superciliousness,  nor  (faith  !) 
any  wear  and  tear  of  youth  and  good  looks — nothing  that  she 
expected — nothing  !  Not  even  a  French  guard-chain  ! 


64  CHANGE  IN  A  LOVER. 

What  there  was  in  her  cousin's  manners  and  exterior,  how 
ever,  was  much  more  difficult  to  define  by  Miss  Bellairs  than  what 
there  was  not.     She  began  the  renewal  of  their  intercourse  with 
very  high  spirits,  herself — the  simple  nature  and  unpretending- 
ness  of  his  address  awakening  only  an  unembarrassed  pleasure  at 
seeing  him  again — but  she  soon  began  to  suspect  there  was  an 
exquisite   refinement  in  this  very  simplicity,  and  to  wonder  at 
"  the  trick  of  it ;"  and,  after  the  first  day  passed  in  his  society, 
her  heart  beat  when  he  spoke  to  her,  as  it  did  not  use  to  beat 
when  she  was  sitting  to  him  for  her  picture,  and  listening  to  his 
passionate  love-making.     And,  with  all  her  faculties,  she  studied 
him.     What  was  the  charm  of  his  presence  ?     He  was  himself, 
and  himself  only.     He  seemed  perfect,  but  he  seemed  to  have 
arrived  at  perfection  like  a  statue,  not  like  a  picture — by  what 
had  been  taken  away,  not  by  what  had  been  laid  on.     He  was  as 
natural  as  a  bird,  and  as  graceful  and  unembarrassed.     He  neither 
forced  conversation,  nor  pressed  the  little  attentions  of  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  his  attitudes  were  full  of  repose ;  yet  she  was  com 
pletely  absorbed  in  what  he  said,  and  she  had  been  impressed 
imperceptibly  with  his  high-bred  politeness,   and   the    singular 
elegance  of  his  person.     Fanny  felt  there  was  a  change  in  her 
relative  position  to  her  cousin.     In  what  it  consisted,  or  which 
had  the  advantage,  she  was  perplexed  to  discover — but  she  bit 
her  lips  as  she  caught  herself  thinking  that  if  she  were  not  engaged 
to  marry  Philip  Ballister,  she  should  suspect  that  she  had  just 
fallen  irrecoverably  in  love  with  him. 

It  would  have  been  a  novelty  in  the  history  of  Miss  Bellairs 
that  any  event  to  which  she  had  once  consented,  should  admit  of 
reconsideration  ;  and  the  Ballister  family,  used  to  her  strong  will, 
were  confirmed  fatalists  as  to  the  coming  about  of  her  ends  and 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  (55 

Her  marriage  with  Philip,  therefore,  was  discussed,  CCBUT 
ouvert,  from  his  first  arrival,  and,  indeed,  in  her  usual  fashion  of 
saving  others  the  trouble  of  making  up  their  minds,  "  herself  had 
named  the  day."  This,  it  is  true,  was  before  his  landing,  and 
was,  then,  an  effort  of  considerable  magnanimity,  as  the  expectant 
Penelope  was  not  yet  advised  of  her  lover's  state  of  preservation 
or  damages  by  cares  and  keeping.  If  Philip  had  not  found  his 
wedding-day  fixed  on  his  arrival,  however,  he  probably  would 
have  had  a  voice  in  the  naming  of  it,  for,  with  Fanny's  new  inspi 
rations  as  to  his  character,  there  had  grown  up  a  new  flower  in 
her  garden  of  beauties — timidity  !  What  bird  of  the  air  had  sown 
the  seed  in  such  a  soil  was  a  problem  to  herself — but  true  it  was ! — 
the  confidant  belle  had  grown  a  blushing  trembler !  She  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  bespeaking  her  wings  for  the  sky,  as  to 
have  ventured  on  naming  the  day  in  a  short  week  after. 

The  day  was  named,  however,  and  the  preparations  went  on — 
nem.  con. — the  person  most  interested  (after  herself)  accepting 
every  congratulation  and  allusion,  touching  the  event,  with  the 
most  impenetrable  suavity.  The  marbles  and  pictures,  upholstery 
and  services,  were  delivered  over  to  the  order  of  Miss  Bellairs, 
and  Philip,  disposed,  apparently,  to  be  very  much  a  recluse  in 
his  rooms,  or,  at  other  times,  engrossed  by  troops  of  welcoming 
friends,  saw  much  less  of  his  bride  elect  than  suited  her  wishes, 
and  saw  her  seldom  alone.  By  particular  request,  also,  he  took 
no  part  in  the  'plenishing  and  embellishing  of  the  new  abode — not 
permitted  even  to  inquire  where  it  was  situated ;  and,  under  this 
cover,  besides  the  pleasure  of  having  her  own  way,  Fanny  con 
cealed  a  little  secret,  which,  when  disclosed,  she  now  felt,  would 
figure  forth  to  Philip's  comprehension,  her  whole  scheme  of  future 
happiness.  She  had  taken  the  elder  brother  into  her  counsels  a 


66  PREPARATIONS. 

fortnight  after  Philip's  return,  and,  with  his  aid  and  consent,  had 
abandoned  the  original  idea  of  a  house  in  town,  purchased  a  beau 
tifully-secluded  estate  and  cottage  ornee,  on  the  East  river,  and 
transferred  thither  all  the  objects  of  art,  furniture,  &c.  One 
room  only  of  the  maternal  mansion  was  permitted  to  contribute 
its  quota  to  the  completion  of  the  bridal  dwelling — the  wing, 
never  since  inhabited,  in  which  Philip  had  made  his  essay  as  a 
painter — and,  without  variation  of  a  cobweb,  and,  with  whimsical 
care  and  effort  on  the  part  of  Miss  Fanny,  this  apartment  was 
reproduced  at  Revedere — her  own  picture  on  the  easel,  as  it 
stood  on  the  night  of  his  abandonment  of  his  art,  and  palette, 
pencils  and  colors  in  tempting  readiness  on  the  table.  Even  the 
fire-grate  of  the  old  studio  had  been  re-set  in  the  new,  and  the 
cottage  throughout  had  been  refitted  with  a  view  to  occupation 
in  the  winter.  And  to  sundry  hints  on  the  part  of  the  elder 
brother,  that  some  thought  should  be  given  to  a  city  residence — 
for  the  Christmas  holydays  at  least — Fanny  replied,  through  a 
blush,  that  she  would  never  wish  to  see  the  town — with  Philip  at 
Revedere  ! 

Five  years  had  ripened  and  mellowed  the  beauty  of  Fanny 
Bellairs,  and  the  same  summer-time  of  youth  had  turned  into 
fruit  the  feeling  left  by  Philip  in  bud  and  flower.  She  was  ready 
now  for  love.  She  had  felt  the  variable  temper  of  society,  and 
there  was  a  presentiment  in  the  heart,  of  receding  flatteries,  and 
the  winter  of  life.  It  was  with  mournful  self-reproach  that  she 
thought  of  the  years  wasted  in  separation,  of  her  own  choosing, 
from  the  man  she  loved ;  and,  with  the  power  to  recall  time,  shf 
would  have  thanked  God  with  tears  of  joy  for  the  privilege  o: 
retracing  the  chain  of  life  to  that  link  of  parting.  Not  worth  ; 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  67 


day  of  those  lost  years,  she  bitterly  confessed  to  herself,  was  the 
wealth  they  had  purchased. 

It  lacked  as  little  as  one  week  of  "  the  happy  day,"  when  the 
workmen  were  withdrawn  from  Revedere,  and  the  preparations 
for  a  family  breakfast,  to  be  succeeded  by  the  agreeable  surprise 
to  Philip  of  informing  him  he  was  at  home,  were  finally  com 
pleted.  One  or  two  very  intimate  friends  were  added  to  the 
party,  and  the  invitations  (from  the  elder  Ballister)  proposed 
simply  a  dejeuner  sur  Vherle  in  the  grounds  of  an  unoccupied 
villa,  the  property  of  an  acquaintance. 

With  the  subsiding  of  the  excitement  of  return,  the  early  asso 
ciations  which  had  temporarily  confused  and  colored  the  feelings 
of  Philip  Ballister,  settled  gradually  away,  leaving  uppermost 
once  more  the  fastidious  refinement  of  the  Parisian.  Through 
this  medium,  thin  and  cold,  the  bubbles  from  the  breathing  of 
the  heart  of  youth,  rose  rarely  and  reluctantly.  The  Ballisters 
held  a  good  station  in  society,  without  caring  for  much  beyond 
the  easy  conveniences  of  life,  and  Fanny,  though  capable  of  any 
degree  of  elegance,  had  not  seen  the  expediency  of  raising  the 
tone  of  her  manners  above  that  of  her  immediate  friends.  With 
out  being  positively  distasteful  to  Philip,  the  family  circle,  Fanny 
included,  left  him  much  to  desire  in  the  way  of  society,  and, 
unwilling  to  abate  the  warmth  of  his  attentions  while  with  them, 
he  had  latterly  pleaded  occupation  more  frequently,  and  passed  his 
time  in  the  more  congenial  company  of  his  library  of  art.  This 
was  the  less  noticed  that  it  gave  Miss  Bellairs  the  opportunity  to 
make  frequent  visits  to  the  workmen  at  Revedere,  and,  in  the 
polished  devotion  of  her  betrothed,  when  with  her,  Fanny  saw 
nothing  reflected  but  her  own  daily  increasing  tenderness  and 
admiration. 


08  THE  FETE. 


The  morning  of  the  fete,  came  in  like  the  air  in  an  overture — a 
harmony  of  all  the  instruments  of  summer.  The  party  were  at 
the  gate  of  Revedere  by  ten,  and  the  drive  through  the  avenue  to 
the  lawn  drew  a  burst  of  delighted  admiration  from  all.  The 
place  was  exquisite,  and  seon  in  its  glory,  and  Fanny's  heart  was 
brimming  with  gratified  pride  and  exultation.  She  assumed  at 
once  the  dispensation  of  the  honors,  and  beautiful  she  looked  with 
her  snowy  dress  and  raven  ringlets  flitting  across  the  lawn,  and 
queening  it  like  Perdita  among  the  flowers.  Having  narrowly 
escaped  bursting  into  tears  of  joy  when  Philip  pronounced  the 
place  prettier  than  anything  he  had  seen  in  his  travels,  she  was, 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  calmly  happy ;  and,  with  the  grateful 
shade,  the  delicious  breakfast  in  the  grove,  the  rambling  and 
boating  on  the  river,  the  hours  passed  off  like  dreams,  and  no 
one  even  hinted  a  regret  that  the  house  itself  was  under  lock  and 
bar.  And  so  the  sun  set,  and  the  twilight  came  on,  and  the 
guests  were  permitted  to  order  round  their  carriages  and  depart, 
the  Ballisters  accompanying  them  to  the  gate.  And,  on  the 
return  of  the  family  through  the  avenue,  excuses  were  made  for 
idling  hither  and  thither,  till  lights  began  to  show  through  the 
trees,  and,  by  the  time  of  their  arrival  at  the  lawn,  the  low  win 
dows  of  the  cottage  poured  forth  streams  of  light,  and  the  open 
doors,  and  servants  busy  within,  completed  a  scene  more  like 
magic  than  reality.  Philip  was  led  in  by  the  excited  girl  who 
was  the  fairy  of  the  spell,  and  his  astonishment  at  the  discovery 
of  his  statuary  and  pictures,  books  and  furniture,  arranged  in 
complete  order  within,  was  fed  upon  with  the  passionate  delight 
of  love  in  authority. 

When  an  hour  had  been  spent  in  examining  and  admiring  the 
different  apartments,  an  inner  room  was  thrown  open,  in  which 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  69 

supper  was  prepared,  and  this  fourth  act  in  the  day's  drama  was 
lingered  over  in  untiring  happiness  by  the  family. 

Mrs.  Ballister,  the  mother,  rose  and  retired,  and  Philip  pleaded 
indisposition,  and  begged  to  be  shown  to  the  room  allotted  to  him. 
This  was  ringing-up  the  curtain  for  the  last  act  sooner  than  had 
been  planned  by  Fanny,  but  she  announced  herself  as  his  cham 
berlain,  and,  with  her  hands  affectionately  crossed  on  his  arm,  led 
him  to  a  suite  of  rooms  in  a  wing  still  unvisited,  and,  with  a  good 
night  kiss,  left  him  at  the  open  door  of  the  revived  studio,  fur 
nished  for  the  night  with  a  bachelor's  bed.  Turning  upon  the 
threshold,  he  closed  the  door  with  a  parting  wish  of  sweet 
dreams,  and  Fanny,  after  listening  a  moment  with  a  vain  hope  of 
overhearing  some  expression  of  pleasure,  and  lingering  again  on 
her  way  back,  to  be  overtaken  by  her  surprised  lover,  sought  her 
own  bed  without  rejoining  the  circle,  and  passed  a  sleepless  and 
happy  night  of  tears  and  joy. 

Breakfast  was  served  the  next  morning  on  a  terrace  overlook 
ing  the  river,  and  it  was  voted  by  acclamation,  that  Fanny  never 
before  looked  so  lovely.  As  none  but  the  family  were  to  be  pre 
sent,  she  had  stolen  a  march  on  her  marriage  wardrobe,  and  add 
ed  to  her  demi-toilet  a  morning  cap  of  exquisite  becomingness. 
Altogether,  she  looked  deliciously  wife-like,  and  did  the  honors 
of  the  breakfast-table  with  a  grace  and  sweetness  that  warmed 
out  love  and  compliments  even  from  the  sober  soil  of  household 
intimacy.  Philip  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance,  and  they 
lingered  long  at  table,  till  at  last  a  suggestion,  that  he  might  be  ill, 
started  Fanny  to  her  feet,  and  she  ran  to  his  door  before  a  servant 
could  be  summoned. 

The  rooms  were  open,  and  the  bed  had  not  been  occupied. 
The  candle  was  burned  to  the  socket,  and  on  the  easel,  resting 


BITTER  PROSPERITY. 


against  the  picture,  was  a  letter  addressed — "  Miss  Fanny  Bel- 
lairs." 

THE    LETTER. 

"  I  have  followed  up  to  this  hour,  my  fair  cousin,  in  the  path 
you  have  marked  out  for  me.     It  has  brought  me  back,  in  this 
chamber,  to  the  point  from  which  I  started  under  your  guidance, 
and  if  it  had  brought  me  back  unchanged — if  it  restored  me  my 
energy,  my  hope,  and  my  prospect  of  fame,  I  should  pray  Hea 
ven  that  it  would  also  give  me  back  my  love,  and  be  content — 
more  than  content,  if  it  gave  me  back  also  my  poverty.     The 
sight  of  my  easel,  and  of  the  surroundings  of  my  boyish  dreams 
of  glory,  have  made  my  heart  bitter.     They  have  given  form  and 
voice  to  a  vague  unhappiness,  which  has  haunted  me  through  all 
these   absent   years — years   of    degrading   pursuits   and   wasted 
powers — and  it  now  impels  me  from  you,  kind  and  lovely  as  you 
are,  with  an  aversion  I  can  not  control.     I  cannot  forgive  you. 
You  have  thwarted  my  destiny.     You  have  extinguished  with 
sordid  cares  a  lamp  within  me,  that  might,  by  this  time,  have 
shone  through  the  world.     And  what  am  I,  since  your  wishes  are 
accomplished  ?     Enriched  in  pocket,  and  bankrupt  in  happiness 
and  self-respect. 

"  With  a  heart  SICK,  and  a  brain  aching  for  distinction,  I  have 
come  to  an  unhonored  stand-still  at  thirty !  I  am  a  successful 
tradesman,  and  in  this  character  I  shall  probably  die.  Could  I 
begin  to  be  a  painter  now,  say  you  ?  Alas  !  my  knowledge  of  the 
art  is  too  great  for  patience  with  the  slow  hand !  I  could  not 
draw  a  line  without  despair.  The  pliant  fingers  and  the  plastic 
mind  must  keep  pace  to  make  progress  in  art.  My  taste  is  fixed, 
and  my  imagination  uncreative,  because  chained  down  by  certain- 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL.  71 

'  ies ;  and  the  shortsighted  ardor  and  daring  experiment  which  are 
idispensible  to  sustain  and  advance  the  follower  in  Raphael's 
Dotsteps,  are  too  far  behind  for  my  resuming.  The  tide  ebbed 
rom  me  at  the  accursed  burning  of  my  pencils  by  your  pitiless 
land,  and  from  that  hour  I  have  felt  hope  receding.  Could  I  be 
lappy  with  you,  stranded  here  in  ignoble  idleness,  and  owing  to 
'•ou  the  loss  of  my  whole  venture  of  opportunity  ?  No,  Fanny  ? 
—surely  no  ! 

"  I  would  not  be  unnecessarily  harsh.  I  am  sensible  of  your 
affection  and  constancy.  I  have  deferred  this  explanation  un 
wisely,  till  the  time  and  place  make  it  seem  more  cruel.  You 
are  at  this  very  moment,  I  well  know,  awake  in  your  chamber, 
devoting  to  me  the  vigils  of  a  heart  overflowing  with  tenderness. 
And  I  would — if  it  were  possible — if  it  were  not  utterly  beyond 
my  powers  of  self-sacrifice  and  concealment — I  would  affect  a 
devotion  I  can  not  feel,  and  carry  out  this  error  through  a  life  of 
artifice  and  monotony.  But  here  again,  the  work  is  your  own, 
and  my  feelings  revert  bitterly  to  your  interference.  If  there 
were  no  other  obstacle  to  my  marrying  you — if  you  were  not 
associated  repulsively  with  the  dark  cloud  on  my  life,  you  are  not 
the  woman  I  could  now  enthrone  in  my  bosom.  We  have 
diverged  since  the  separation  which  I  pleaded  against,  and  which 
you  commanded.  I  need  for  my  idolatry,  now,  a  creature  to 
whom  the  sordid  cares  you  have  sacrificed  me  to,  are  utterly 
unknown — a  woman  born  and  educated  in  circumstances  where 
want  is  never  feared,  and  where  calculation  never  enters.  I  must 
lavish  my  wealth,  if  I  fulfil  my  desire,  on  one  who  accepts  it  like 
the  air  she  breathes,  and  who  knows  the  value  of  nothing  but 
love — a  bird  with  a  human  soul  and  form,  believing  herself  free 
of  all  the  world  is  rich  in,  and  careful  only  for  pleasure  and  the 


72  END  LOST  IN  THE  MEANS. 


happiness  of  those  who  belong  to  her.  Such  women,  beautiful 
and  highly  educated,  are  found  only  in  ranks  of  society  between 
which  and  my  own  I  have  been  increasing  in  distance — nay, 
building  an  impassible  barrier,  in  obedience  to  your  control. 
Where  I  stop,  interdicted  by  the  stain  of  trade,  the  successful 
artist  is  free  to  enter.  You  have  stamped  me  plebeian — you 
would  not  share  my  slow  progress  toward  a  higher  sphere,  and 
you  have  disqualified  me  for  attaining  it  alone.  In  your  merce 
nary  and  immovable  will,  and  in  that  only,  lies  the  secret  of  our 
twofold  unhappiness. 

"  I  leave  you,  to  return  to  Europe.  My  brother  and  my 
friends  will  tell  you  I  am  mad  and  inexcusable,  and  look  upon 
you  as  a  victim.  They  will  say  that,  to  have  been  a  painter,  were 
nothing  to  the  career  that  I  might  mark  out  for  my  ambition,  if 
ambition  I  must  have,  in  politics.  Politics  in  a  country  where 
distinction  is  a  pillory !  But  I  could  not  live  here.  It  is  nry 
misfortune  that  my  tastes  are  so  modified  by  that  long  and  com 
pulsory  exile,  that  life,  here,  would  be  a  perpetual  penance. 
This  unmixed  air  of  merchandise  suffocates  me.  Our  own  home 
is  tinctured  black  with  it.  You  yourself,  in  this  rural  Paradise 
you  have  conjured  up,  move  in  it  like  a  cloud.  The  counting- 
house  rings  in  your  voice,  calculation  draws  together  your  brows 
you  look  on  everything  as  a  means,  and  know  its  cost ;  and  the 
calm  and  means-forgetting  fruition,  which  forms  the  charm  anc 
dignity  of  superior  life,  is  utterly  unknown  to  you.  Wha 
would  be  my  happiness  with  such  a  wife  ?  What  would  be  your; 
with  such  a  husband  ?  Yet  I  consider  the  incompatibility 
between  us  as  no  advantage  on  my  part — on  the  contrary,  { 
punishment,  and  of  your  inflicting.  W^hat  shall  I  be,  anywhere,  bu 


TWO  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL. 


73 


a  Tantalus— a  fastidious  ennuyt,  with  a  thirst  for  the  inaccessible 
burning  in  my  bosom  continually  ! 

"  I  pray  you  let  us  avoid  another  meeting  before  my  departure. 
Though  I  cannot  forgive  you  as  a  lover,  I  can  think  of  you  with 
pleasure  as  a  cousin,  and  I  give  you,  as  your  due,  ("  damages,"  the 
law  would  phrase  it,)  the  portion  of  myself  which  you  thought 
most  important  when  I  offered  you  my  all.  You  would  not  take 
me  without  the  fortune,  but  perhaps  you  will  be  content  with  the 
fortune  without  me.  I  shall  immediately  take  steps  to  convey  to 
you  this  property  of  Revedere,  with  an  income  sufficient  to  main 
tain  it,  and  I  trust  soon  to  hear  that  you  have  found  a  husband 

better  worthy  of  you  than  your  cousin 

"  PHILIP  BALLISTER." 


LIGHT  VERVAIN, 


"  And  thou  light  vervain,  too— thou  next  come,  after 

Provoking  souls  to  mirth  and  easy  laughter."— Old  Somebody. 

ROME,  May  30,  1832. 

DINED  with  F— ,  the  artist,  at  a  trattoria.  F—  is  a  man  of 
genius,  very  adventurous  and  imaginative  in  his  art,  but  never 
caring  to  show  the  least  touch  of  these  qualities  in  his  conversa 
tion.  His  pictures  have  given  him  great  vogue  and  consideration 
at  Rome,  so  that  his  daily  experience  furnishes  staple  enough  for 
his  evening's  chit-chat,  and  he  seems,  of  course,  to  be  always 
talking  of  himself.  He  is  very  generally  set  down  as  an  egotist. 
His  impulse  to  talk,  however,  springs  from  no  wish  for  self- 
glorification,  but  rather  from  an  indolent  aptness  to  lay  hands  on 
the  readiest  and  most  familiar  topic,  and  that  is  a  kind  of  egotism 
to  which  I  have  very  little  objection— particularly  with  the  mind 
fatigued,  as  it  commonly  is  in  Rome,  by  a  long  day's  study  of 
works  of  art. 

I  had  passed  the  morning  at  the  Barberini  palace  with  a  party 
of  picture-hunters,  and  I  made  some  remark  as  to  the  variety  of 
impressions  made  upon  the  minds  of  different  people  by  the  same 
picture.  Apropos  of  this  remark,  F—  told  me  a  little  anecdote, 


LIGHT   VERVAIN.  75 


which  I  must  try  to  put  down  by  way  of  a  new  shoal  in  the  chart 
of  human  nature. 

"  It  is  very  much  the  same  with  everything  else,"  said  F — ; 
"  no  two  people  see  with  the  same  eyes,  physically  or  morally; 
and  faith,  we  might  save  ourselves  a  great  deal  of  care  and  bother 
if  we  did  but  keep  it  in  mind." 

"  As  how  ?"  I  asked,  for  I  saw  that  this  vague  remark  was 
premonitory  of  an  illustration. 

"  I  think  I  introduced  young  Skyring  to  you  at  a  party  some 
where  :" 

"  A  youth  with  a  gay  waistcoat  and  nothing  to  say  ?     Yes." 

"  Well — your  observation  just  now  reminded  me  of  the  dif 
ferent  estimate  put  by  that  gentleman  and  myself  upon  some 
thing,  and  if  I  could  give  you  any  idea  of  my  month's  work  in  his 
behalf,  you  would  agree  with  me  that  I  might  have  spared  myself 
some  trouble — keeping  in  mind,  as  I  said  before,  the  difference  in 
optics. 

"  I  was  copying  a  bit  of  foreshortening  from  a  picture  in  the 
Vatican,  one  day,  when  this  youth  passed  without  observing  me. 
I  did  not  immediately  recollect  him.  He  was  dressed  like  a 
figure  in  a  tailor's  window,  and,  with  Mrs.  Stark  in  his  hand,  was 
hunting  up  the  pictures  marked  with  four  notes  of  admiration ; 
and  I,  with  a  smile  at  the  waxy  dandyism  of  the  man,  turned  to 
my  work  and  forgot  him.  Presently  his  face  recurred  to  me,  or 
rather  his  sister's  face,  which  some  family  likeness  had  insensibly 
recalled,  and,  getting  another  look,  I  recognised  in  him  an  old, 
though  not  very  intimate  playmate  of  my  boyish  days.  It  imme 
diately  occurred  to  me  that  I  cdmd  serve  him  a  very  good  turn 
by  giving  him  the  entree  to  society  here,  and  quite  as  mime- 


76  TRIBUTE  TO  AN  OLD  LOVE. 


diately,  it  occurred  to  me  to  doubt  whether  it  were  worth  my 
while." 

"  And  what  changed  your  mind,"  I  asked,  "  for  of  course  you 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  not  ?" 

"Oh,  for  his  sake  alone  I  should  have  left  him  as  he  was,  a 
hermit  in  his  varnished  boots — for  he  had  not  an  acquaintance  in 
the  city — but  Kate  Skyring  had  given  me  roses  when  roses  were 
to  me,  each  a  world  ;  and  for  her  sake,  though  I  was  a  rejected 
lover,  I  thought  better  of  my  demurrer.  Then  I  had  a  little 
pique  to  gratify — for  the  Skyrings  had  rather  given  me  the  de 
haut  en  las  in  declining  the  honor  of  my  alliance  (lucky  for  me, 
since  it  brought  me  here  and  made  me  what  I  am),  and  I  was  not 
indisposed  to  show  that  the  power  to  serve,  to  say  the  least,  was 
now  on  my  side." 

"  Two  sufficient,  as  well  as  dramatic  reasons  for  being  civil  to  a 
man." 

"  Only  arrived  at,  however,  by  a  night's  deliberation,  for  it 
cost  me  some  trouble  of  thought  and  memory  to  get  back  into  my 
chrysalis  and  imagine  myself  at  all  subject  to  people  so  much 
below  my  present  vogue — whatever  that  is  worth  !  Of  course  I 
don't  think  of  Kate  in  this  comparison,  for  a  woman  one  has  once 
loved  is  below  nothing.  We'll  drink  her  health,  God  bless 
her  !" 

(A  bottle  of  Lagrima.) 

"  I  left  my  card  on  Mr.  Skyring  the  next  morning,  with  a  note 
enclosing  three  or  four  invitations  which  I  had  been  at  some 
trouble  to  procure,  and  a  hope  from  myself  of  the  honor  of  his 
company  to  a  quiet  dinner.  Ha  took  it  as  a  statue  would  take  a 
shower-bath,  wrote  me  a  note  in  the  third  person  in  reply  to  mine 
in  the  first,  and  came  in  ball-dress  and  sulphur  gloves  at  pro- 


LIGHT  VERVAIN.  77 


cisely  the  canonical  fifteen  minutes  past  the  hour.  Good  old 
Thorwalsden  dined  with  me,  and  an  English  viscount  for  whom  I 
was  painting  a  picture,  and  between  my  talking  Italian  to  the 
venerable  sculptor,  and  Skyring's  belording  and  belordshipping 
the  good-natured  nobleman,  the  dinner  went  trippingly  off — the 
Little  Pedlington  of  our  mutual  nativity  furnishing  less  than  its 
share  to  the  conversation. 

"  We  drove,  all  together,  to  the  Palazzo  Rossi,  for  it  was  the 
night  of  the  Marchesa's  soiree.  As  sponsor,  I  looked  with  some 
satisfaction  at  Skyring  in  the  ante-room,  his  toggery  being  quite 
unexceptionable,  and  his  maintien  very  uppish  and  assured.  I 
presented  him  to  our  fair  hostess,  who  surveyed  him  as  he  ap 
proached  with  a  satisfactory  look  of  approval,  and  no  one  else 
chancing  to  be  near,  I  left  him  to  improve  what  was  rather  a  rare 
opportunity — a  tete-d-tete  with  the  prettiest  woman  in  Rome. 
Five  minutes  after,  I  returned  to  reconnoitre,  and  there  he  stood, 
stroking  down  his  velvet  waistcoat,  and  looking  from  the  carpet 
to  the  ceiling,  while  the  marchioness  wag  quite  red  with  embar 
rassment  and  vexation.  He  had  not  opened  his  lips  !  She  had 
tried  him  in  French  and  Italian  (the  dunce  had  told  me  that  he 
spoke  French  too),  and  finally  she  had  ventured  upon  English, 
which  she  knew  very  little  of,  and  still  he  neither  spoke  nor  ran 
away  ! 

'  Perhaps  Monsieur  would  like  to  dance,'  said  the  mar 
chioness,  gliding  away  from  him  with  a  look  of  inexpressible  relief, 
and  trusting  to  me  to  find  him  a  partner. 

"  I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  him  a  partner,  for  (that  far)  his 
waistcoat  '  put  him  on  velvet  '—but  I  could  not  trust  him  alone 
again ;  so,  having  presented  him  to  a  very  pretty  woman  and  got 
them  vis-a-vis  in  the  quadrille,  I  stood  by  to  supply  the  short- 


78  INGRATITUDE. 


comings.  And  little  of  a  sinecure  it  was  !  The  man  had  nothing 
to  say  ;  nor,  confound  him,  had  he  any  embarrassment  on  the  sub 
ject.  He  looked  at  his  varnished  pumps,  and  coaxed  his  coat  to 
his  waist,  and  set  back  his  neck  like  a  goose  bolting  a  grasshopper, 
and  took  as  much  interest  in  the  conversation  as  a  footman  behind 
your  chair — deaf  and  dumb  apparently,  but  perfectly  at  his  ease. 
He  evidently  had  no  idea  that  there  was  any  distinction  between 
men  except  in  dress,  and  was  persuaded  that  he  was  entirely  suc 
cessful  as  far  as  he  had  gone  :  and,  as  to  my  efforts  in  his  behalf, 
he  clearly  took  them  as  gratuitous  on  my  part — probably  think 
ing,  from  the  difference  in  our  exteriors,  that  I  had  paid  myself 
in  the  glory  of  introducing  him. 

"  Well — I  had  begun  so  liberally  that  I  could  scarce  refuse  to 
find  my  friend  another  partner,  and,  after  that,  another  and 
another — I,  to  avoid  the  odium  of  inflicting  a  bore  on  my  fair 
acquaintances,  feeling  compelled  to  continue  my  service  as  chorus 
in  the  pantomime — and,  you  will  scarce  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  submitted  to  this  bore  nightly  for  a  month  !  I  could 
not  get  rid  of  him.  He  would  not  be  let  go.  Without  offending 
him  mortally,  and  so  undoing  all  my  sentimental  outlay  for  Kate 
Skyring  and  her  short-sighted  papa,  I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to 
go  on  till  he  should  go  off — ridden  to  death  with  him  in  every 
conceivable  variety  of  bore." 

"  And  is  he  gone  ?" 

"  Gone.  And  now,  what  thanks  do  you  suppose  I  got  for  all 
this  ?» 

"  A  present  of  a  pencil-case  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  but  a  lesson  in  human  nature  that  will  stick  by 
me  much  longer.  He  called  at  my  studio  yesterday  morning  to 
say  good-bye.  Through  all  my  sense  of  his  boredom  and  relief  at 


LIGHT  VERVAIN.  79 


the  prospect  of  being  rid  of  him,  I  felt  embarrassed  when  he  camo 
in,  thinking  how  difficult  it  would  be  for  him  to  express  properly 
his  sense  of  the  obligation  he  was  under  to  me.  After  half  an 
hour's  monologue  (by  myself)  on  pictures,  &c.,  he  started  up 
and  said  he  must  go.  i  And  by-the-by,'  said  he,  coloring  a  little, 
4  there  is  one  thing  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  F —  !  Hang  it,  it 
has  stuck  in  my  throat  ever  since  I  met  you  !  You've  been  very 
polite  and  I'm  obliged  to  you,  of  course — but  I  don't  like,  your 

devilish  patronizing  manner  !     Good-bye,  Mr.  F — !" 

*  *  *  *  #  *  * 

The  foregoing  is  a  leaf  from  a  private  diary  which  I  kept  at 
Rome.  In  making  a  daily  entry  of  such  passing  stun7  as  interests 
us,  we  sometimes,  amid  much  that  should  be  ticketed  for  oblivion, 
record  that  which  has  a  bearing,  important  or  amusing,  on  the 
future  ;  and  a  late  renewal  of  my  acquaintance  with  Mr.  F — , 
followed  by  a  knowledge  of  some  fortunate  changes  in  his  worldly 
condition,  has  given  that  interest  to  this  otherwise  unimportant 
scrap  of  diary  which  will  be  made  apparent  presently  to  the 
reader.  A  vague  recollection  that  I  had  something  in  an  old 
book  which  referred  to  him,  induced  me  to  look  it  up,  and  I  was 
surprised  to  find  that  I  had  noted  down,  in  this  trifling  anecdote, 
what  turned  out  to  be  the  mainspring  of  his  destiny. 

F —  returned  to  his  native  country  after  five  years  study  of 
the  great  masters  of  Italy.  His  first  pictures  painted  at  Rome 
procured  for  him,  as  is  stated  in  the  diary  I  have  quoted,  a  high 
reputation.  He  carried  with  him  a  style  of  his  own  which  was 
merely  stimulated  and  heightened  by  his  first  year's  walk  through 
the  galleries  of  Florence,  and  the  originality  and  boldness  in  his 
manner  of  coloring  seemed  to  promise  a  sustained  novelty  of  the 
art.  Gradually,  however,  the  awe  of  the  great  masters  seemed 


80 


A  LOVE  LETTER. 


to  overshadow  his  confidence  in  himself,  and,  as  he  travelled  and 
deepened  his  knowledge  of  painting,  he  threw  aside  feature  after 
feature  of  his  own  peculiar  style,  till  at  last  he  fell  into  the  track 
of  the  great  army  of  imitators,  who  follow  the  immortals  of  the 
Vatican  as  doomed  ships  follow  the  Flying  Dutchman. 

Arrived  at  home,  and  depending  solely  on  his  art  for  a  subsist 
ence,  F commenced  the  profession  to  which  he  had  served  so 

long  an  apprenticeship.     But  his  pictures  sadly  disappointed  his 
friends.     After  the  first  specimens  of  his  acquired  style  in  the 
annual  exhibitions,  the  calls  at  his  rooms  became  fewer  and  far 
ther  between,  and  his  best  works  were  returned  from  the  galleries 
unsold.     Too  proud  to  humor  the  popular  taste  by  returning  to 
what  he  considered  an  inferior  stage  of  his  art,  he  stood  still  with 
his  reputation  ebbing  from  him,  and  as  his  means,  of  course, 
depended  on  the  tide  of  public  favor,  he  was  soon  involved  in 
troubles  before  which  his  once-brilliant  hopes  rapidly  faded. 
At  this  juncture  he  received  the  following  letter  : — 

"  You  will  be  surprised  on  glancing  at  the  signature  to  this 
letter.  You  will  be  still  more  surprised  when  you  are  reminded 
that  it  is  a  reply  to  an  unanswered  one  of  your  own— written 
years  ago.  That  letter  lies  by  me,  expressed  with  all  the  diffi 
dence  of  boyish  feeling.  And  it  seems  as  if  its  diffidence  would 
encourage  me  in  what  I  wish  to  say.  Yet  I  write  far  more 
tremblingly  than  you  could  have  done. 

"  Let  me  try  to  prepare  the  way  by  some  explanation  of  the 

past. 

"  You  were  my  first  lover.  I  was  not  forbidden,  at  fourteen, 
to  express  the  pleasure  I  felt  at  your  admiration,  and  you  cannot 
have  forgotten  the  ardor  and  simplicity  with  which  I  returned  it. 


LIGHT  VERVAIN.  81 


-I  remember  giving  you  roses  better  than  I  remember  anything  so 
'long  ago.  Now — writing  to  you  with  the  same  feeling  warm  at 
:my  heart — it  seems  to  me  as  if  it  needed  but  a  rose,  could  I  give 
it  you  in  the  same  garden,  to  make  us  lovers  again.  Yet  I  know 
•you  must  be  changed.  I  scarce  know  whether  I  should  go  on 

with  this  letter. 

"  But  I  owe  you  reparation.  I  owe  you  an  answer  to  this 
which  lies  before  me  ;  and,  if  I  err  in  answering  it  as  my  heart 
burns  to  do,  you  will  at  least  be  made  happier  by  knowing  that 
when  treated  with  neglect  and  repulsion,  you  were  still  beloved. 
"  I  think  it  was  not  long  before  the  receipt  of  this  letter  that 
my  father  first  spoke  to  me  of  our  attachment.  Till  then  I  had 

i  only  thought  of  loving  you.  That  you  were  graceful  and  manly, 
that  your  voice  was  sweet,  and  that  your  smile  made  me  happy, 
was  all  I  could  have  told  of  you  without  reflection.  I  had  never 
reasoned  upon  your  qualities  of  mind,  though  I  had  taken  an 
unconscious  pride  in  your  superiority  to  your  companions,  and 

!  least  of  all  had  1  asked  myself  whether  those  abilities  for  making 

*  your  way  in  the  world,  which  my  father  denied  you,  were  among 
your  boyish  energies.  With  a  silent  conviction  that  you  had  no 

:  equal  among  your  companions,  in  anything,  I  listened  to  my 
father's  disparagement  of  you,  bewildered  and  overawed — the 
very  novelty  and  unexpectedness  of  the  light  in  which  he  spoke 
of  you,  sealing  my  lips  completely.  Perhaps  resistance  to  his 
will  would  have  been  of  no  avail,  but,  had  I  been  better  prepared 
to  reason  upon  what  he  urged,  I  might  have  expressed  to  you 
the  unwillingness  of  my  acquiescence.  I  was  prevented  from 
seeing  you  till  your  letter  came,  and  then  all  intercourse  with 
you  was  formally  forbidden.  My  father  said  he  would  himself 
4* 


82  RECONSIDERED  LOVE. 


reply  to  your  proposal.     But  it  was  addressed  to  me,  and  I  have-, 
only  recovered  possession  of  it  by  his  death. 

"  Though  it  may  seem  like  reproaching  you  for  yielding  me? 
without  an  effort,  I  must  say,  to  complete  the  history  of  my  own 
feelings,  that  I  nursed  a  vague  hope  of  hearing  from  you  until  I 
your  departure  for  Italy,  and  that  this  hope  was  extinguished  not 
without  bitter  tears.     The  partial  resentment  that  mingled  with 
this  unhappiness  aided  me  doubtless  in  making  up  my  mind  to 
forget  you,  and  for  a  while,  for  years  I  may  say,  I  was  possessed 
by  other  excitements  and  feelings.     It  is  strange,  however,  that, 
though  scarce  remembering  you  when  waking,   I  still  saw  you 
perpetually  in  my  dreams. 

"  And,  so  far,  this  is  a  cold  and  easy  recital.  How  shall  I 
describe  to  you  the  next  change,  the  re-awakening  of  this  smoth 
ered  and  slumbering  affection  !  How  shall  I  evade  your  con 
tempt  when  I  tell  you  that  it  awoke  with  your  renown  !  But  my 
first  feeling  was  not  one  of  love.  When  your  name  began  to  come 
to  us  in  the  letters  of  travellers  and  in  the  rumor  of  literary 
circles,  I  felt  as  if  something  that  belonged  to  me  was  praised 
and  honored  ;  a  pride,  an  exulting  and  gratified  pride,  that  feel 
ing  seemed  to  be,  as  if  the  heart  of  my  childhood  had  been 
staked  on  your  aspirations,  and  was  borne  up  with  you,  a  part 
and  a  partaker  of  your  fame.  With  all  my  soul  I  drank  in  the  , 
news  of  your  successes  in  the  art ;  I  wrote  to  those  who  came 
home  from  Italy ;  I  questioned  those  likely  to  have  heard  of  you, 
as  critics  and  connoisseurs  ;  I  devoted  all  my  reading  to  the  litera 
ture  of  the  arts,  and  the  history  of  painters,  for  my  life  was 
poured  into  yours  irresistibly,  by  a  power  I  could  not,  and  cannot 
now  control.  My  own  imagination  turned  painter,  indeed,  for  I 
lived  on  revery,  calling  up,  with  endless  variations,  pictures  of 


LIGHT  VERVAIN.  83 


yourself  amid  the  works  of  your  pencil,  visited  and  honored  as  I 
knew  you  were,  yet  unchanged  in  the  graceful  and  boyish  beauty 
jl  remembered.  I  was  proud  of  having  loved  you,  of  having  been 
the  object  of  the  earliest  and  purest  preference  of  a  creature  of 
genius ;  and  through  this  pride,  supplanting  and  overflowing  it, 
crept  and  strengthened  a  wanner  feeling,  the  love  I  have  the 
hardihood  to  avow.  Oh  !  what  will  you  think  of  this  boldness  ! 
Yet  to  conceal  my  love  were  now  a  severer  task  than  to  wait  the 
hazard  of  your  contempt. 

"  One  explanation — a  palliative,  perhaps  you  will  allow  it  to 
be,  if  you  are  generous— remains  to  be  given.  The  immediate 
impulse  of  this  letter  was  information  from  my  brother,  long 
withheld,  of  your  kindness  to  him  in  Rome.  From  some  per- 
verseness  which  I  hardly  understand,  he  has  never  before  hinted 
in  my  presence  that  he  had  seen  you  in  Italy,  and  it  was  only  by 
needing  it  as  an  illustration  of  some  feeling  which  seemed  to  have 
piqued  him,  and  which  he  was  expressing  to  a  friend,  that  he 
gave  the  particulars  of  your  month  of  devotion  to  him.  Know 
ing  the  difference  between  your  characters,  and  the  entire  want  of 
sympathy  between  your  pursuits  and  my  brother's,  to  what 
motive  could  I  attribute  your  unusual  and  self-sacrificing  kind 
ness  ? 

"  Did  I  err — was  I  presumptuous,  in  believing  that  it  was 
from  a  forgiving  and  tender  memory  of  myself  ? 

"  You  are  prepared  now,  if  you  can  be,  for  what  I  would  say. 
We  are  left  alone,  my  brother  and  I,  orphan  heirs  to  the  large 
fortune  of  my  father.  I  have  no  one  to  control  my  wishes,  no 
one's  permission  to  ask  for  any  disposition  of  my  hand  and  for 
tune.  Will  you  have  them  ?  In  this  question  is  answered  the 


84  CHIVALRY  OF  POLITENESS. 


sweet,   and  long-treasured,  though  long  neglected    letter,  lyin; ; 
beside  nie.  "  KATHERINE  SKYRING." 

Mrs.  F — ,  as  will  be  seen  from  the  style  of  her  letter,  is  a 
woman  of  decision  and  cleverness,  and  of  such  a  helpmeet,  in  th< 
way  of  his  profession  as  well  as  in  the  tenderer  relations  of  life 
F —  was  sorely  in  need.  By  her  common-sense  counsels  an< 
persuasion,  he  has  gone  back,  with  his  knowledge  of  the  art,  to  th 
first  lights  of  his  own  powerful  genius,  and,  with  means  to  com 
raand  leisure  and  experiment,  he  is,  without  submitting  th 
process  to  the  world,  perfecting  a  manner  which  will  more  thai 
redeem  his  early  promise. 

As  his  career,  though  not  very  uncommon  or  dramatic,  hinge< 
for  its  more  fortunate  events  on  an  act  of  high-spirited  politeness 
I  have  thought,  that,  in  this  age  of  departed  chivalry,  the  stor^ 
was  worth  preserving  for  its  lesson. 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S. 


WE  got  down  from  an  omnibus  in  Charing-Cross. 

"  Sovereign  or  ha'penny  ?"  said  the  cad,  rubbing  the  coin  be 
tween  his  thumb  and  finger. 

a  Sovereign  of  course  !"  said  B confidently,  pocketing 

the  change  which  the  man  had  ready  for  the  emergency  in  a  bit 
of  brown  paper. 

It  was  a  muggy,  misty,  London  twilight.  I  was  coming  up  to 
town  from  Blackheath,  and  in  the  crowded  vehicle  had  chanced 

to  encounter  my  compatriot  B (call  it  Brown),  who  had 

been  lionizing  the  Thames  tunnel.  In  the  course  of  conversation, 
it  came  out  that  we  were  both  on  the  town  for  our  dinner  ;  and,  as 
we  were  both  guests  at  the  Traveller's  Club,  we  had  pulled  the 
omnibus-string  at  the  nearest  point,  and,  after  the  brief  dialogue 
recorded  above,  strolled  together  down  Pall-Mali. 

As  we  sat  waiting  for  our  fish,  one  of  us  made  a  remark  as  to 
the  difference  of  feel  between  gold  and  copper  coin,  and  Brown, 
fishing  in  his  pocket  for  money  to  try  the  experiment,  discovered 
that  the  doubt  of  the  cad  was  well  founded,  for  he  had  uncon 
sciously  passed  a  halfpenny  for  a  sovereign. 

"  People  are  very  apt  to  take  your  coin  at  your  own  valua- 


S6  FACILE  MANNERS. 


tion!"said  Brown,  with  a  smile  of  some  meaning,  "and  when 
they  are  in  the  dark  as  to  your  original  coinage  (as  the  English 
are  with  regard  to  Americans  abroad),  it  as  easy  to  pass  for  gold 
as  for  copper.  Indeed,  you  may  pass  for  both  in  a  day,  as  I  have 
lately  had  experience.  Remind  me  presently  to  tell  you  how. 
Here  comes  the  fried  sole,  and  it's  troublesome  talking  when 
there  are  bones  to  fight  shy  of — the  '  flow  of  sole*  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding." 

I  will  take  advantage  of  the  hiatus  to  give  the  reader  a  slight 
idea  of  my  friend,  as  a  preparation  for  his  story. 

Brown  was  the  "  mirror  of  courtesy."  He  was  also  the  mirror 
of  vulgarity.  And  he  was  the  mirror  of  everything  else.  He 
had  that  facility  of  adaptation  to  the  society  he  was  in,  which 
made  him  seem  born  for  that  society,  and  that  only  ;  and,  with 
out  calculation  or  forethought — by  an  unconscious  instinct,  in 
deed — he  cleverly  reflected  the  man  and  manners  before  him. 
The  result  was  a  popularity  of  a  most  varied  quality.  Brown 
was  a  man  of  moderate  fortune  and  no  profession.  He  had 
travelled  for  some  years  on  the  continent,  and  had  encountered 
all  classes  of  Englishmen,  from  peers  to  green-grocers  ;  and,  as  he 
had  a  visit  to  England  in  prospect,  he  seldom  parted  from  the 
most  chance  acquaintance  without  a  volunteer  of  letters  of  intro 
duction,  exchange  of  addresses,  and  similar  tokens  of  having 
"  pricked  through  his  castle  wall."  When  he  did  arrive  in  Lon 
don,  at  last,  it  was  with  a  budget  like  the  postman's  on  Valen 
tine's  day,  and  he  had  only  to  deliver  one  letter  in  a  score  to  be 
put  on  velvet  in  any  street  or  square  within  the  bills  of  mortality. 
Sagacious  enough  to  know  that  the  gradations  of  English  society 
have  the  facility  of  a  cat's  back  (smooth  enough  from  the  head 
downward),  he  began  with  a  most  noble  duke,  and  at  the  date  of 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  87 


his  introduction  to  the  reader,  was  on  the  dinner-list  of  most  of 
the  patricians  of  May  Fair. 

Presuming  that  you  see  your  man,  dear  reader,  let  us  come  at 
once  to  the  removal  of  the  cloth. 

"  As  I  was  calling  myself  to  account,  the  other  day,  over  my 
breakfast,"  said  Brown,  filling  his  glass  and  pushing  the  bottle, 
"  it  occurred  to  me  that  my  round  of  engagements  required  some 
little  variation.  There's  a  '  toujours  perdrix,'  even  among  lords 
and  ladies,  particularly  when  you  belong  as  much  to  their  sphere, 
and  are  as  likely  to  become  a  part  of  it,  as  the  fly  revolving  in 
aristocratic  dust  on  the  wheel  of  my  lord's  carriage.  I  thought, 
perhaps,  I  had  better  see  some  other  sort  of  people. 

u  I  had,  under  a  prcsse-papier  on  the  table,  about  a  hundred 
letters  of  introduction — the  condemned  remainder,  after  the 
selection,  by  advice,  of  four  or  five  only.  I  determined  to  cut 
this  heap  like  a  pack  of  cards,  and  follow  up  the  trump. 

"  i  John  j\Iimpson,  Esq.)  House  of  Mimpson  and  JPkipps^ 
Mark's  Lane,  London.' 

"  The  gods  had  devoted  me  to  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  (and 
probably  Mrs.)  John  M  imp  son.  After  turning  over  a  deal  of 
rubbish  in  my  mind,  I  remembered  that  the  letter  had  been  given 
me  five  years  before  by  an  American  merchant — probably  the 
correspondent  of  the  firm  in  Mark's  Lane.  It  was  a  sealed  let 
ter,  and  said  in  brackets  on  the  back,  '  Introducing  Mr.  Brown.' 
I  had  a  mind  to  give  it  up  and  cut  again,  for  I  could  not  guess  on 
what  footing  I  was  introduced,  nor  did  I  know  what  had  become 
of  the  writer — nor  had  I  a  very  clear  idea  how  long  a  letter  of 
recommendation  will  hold  its  virtue.  It  struck  me  again  that 
these  difficulties  rather  gave  it  a  zest,  and  I  would  abide  by  the 
oracle.  I  dressed,  and,  as  the  day  was  fine,  started  to  stroll 


88  DELIVERING  A  LETTER, 


leisurely  through  the  Strand  and  Fleet  street,  and  look  into  the 
shop-windows  on  my  way — assuring  myself,  at  least,  thus  much 
of  diversion  in  my  adventure. 

"  Somewhere  about  two  o'clock,  I  left  daylight  behind,  and 
plunged  into  Mark's  Lane.  Up  one  side  and  down  the  other — 
'  Mimpson  and  Co.'  at  last,  on  a  small  brass  plate,  set  in  a  green 
baize  door.  With  my  unbuttoned  coat  nearly  wiped  off  my 
shoulder  by  the  strength  of  the  pulley,  I  shoved  through,  and 
emerged  in  a  large  room,  with  twenty  or  thirty  clerks  perched  on 
high  stools,  like  monkeys  in  a  menagerie. 

"  '  First  door  right !'  said  the  nearest  man,  without  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  desk,  in  reply  to  my  inquiry  for  Mr.  Mimpson. 

"  I  entered  a  closet,  lighted  by  a  slanting  skylight,  in  which 
sat  my  man. 

"  l  Mr.  John  Mimpson  ?' 

"  (  Mr.  John  Mimpson  !' 

"  After  this  brief  dialogue  of  accost,  I  produced  my  letter,  and 
had  a  second's  leisure  to  examine  my  new  friend  while  he  ran  his 
eye  over  the  contents.  He  was  a  rosy,  well-conditioned,  tight, 
skinned  little  man,  with  black  hair,  and  looked  like  a  pear  on  a 
chair.  (Hang  the  bothering  rhymes  !)  His  legs  were  completely 
hid  under  the  desk,  so  that  the  ascending  eye  began  with  his 
equatory  line,  and  whether  he  had  no  shoulders  or  no  neck,  I  could 
not  well  decide — but  it  was  a  tolerably  smooth  plane  from  his 
seat  to  the  top  curl  of  his  sinciput.  He  was  scrupulously  well 
dressed,  and  had  that  highly  washed  look  which  marks  the  city 
man  in  London — bent  on  not  betraying  his  c  diggins '  by  his  com 
plexion. 

"  I  answered  Mr.  Mimpson's  inquiries  about  our  mutual  friend 
with  rather  a  hazardous  particularity,  and  assured  him  he  was 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  89 


quite  well  (I  have  since  discovered  that  he  has  been  dead  three 
years),  and  conversation  warmed  between  us  for  ten  minutes,  till 
we  were  ready  to  part  sworn  friends.  I  rose  to  go,  and  the 
merchant  seemed  very  much  perplexed. 

'  To-morrow,'  said  he,  rubbing  the  two  great  business  bumps 
over  his  eyebrows — '  no — yes — that  is  to  say,  Mrs.  Mimpson — 
well,  it  shall  be  to-morrow  !  Can  you  come  out  to  Rose  Lodge, 
and  spend  the  day  to-morrow  ?' 

"  '  With  great  pleasure,'  said  I,  for  I  was  determined  to  follow 
my  trump  letter  to  extremities. 

"  '  Mrs.  Mimpson,'  he  next  went  on  to  say,  as  he  wrote  down 
the  geography  of  Rose  Lodge — '  Mrs.  Mimpson  expects  some 
friends  to-morrow — indeed,  some  of  her  very  choice  friends.  If 
you  come  early,  you  will  see  more  of  her  than  if  you  just  save  your 
dinner.  Bring  your  carpet-bag,  of  course,  and  stay  over  night. 
Lunch  at  two — dine  at  seven.  I  can't  be  there  to  receive  you 
myself,  but  I  will  prepare  Mrs.  Mimpson  to  save  you  all  trouble 
of  introduction.  Hampstead  road.  Good  morning,  my  dear 
sir.' 

"  So,  I  am  in  for  a  suburban  bucolic,  thought  I,  as  I  regained 
daylight  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Mansion  House. 

"  It  turned  out  a  beautiful  day,  sunny  and  warm  ;  and  had  I 
been  sure  of  my  navigation,  and  sure  of  my  disposition  to  stay  all 
night,  I  should  have  gone  out  by  the  Hampstead  coach,  and  made 
the  best  of  my  way,  carpet-bag  in  hand.  I  went  into  Newman's 
for  a  postchaise,  however,  and,  on  showing  him  the  written  address, 
was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  he  knew  Rose  Lodge.  His  boys 
had  all  been  there. 

"  Away  I  went  through  the  Regent's  park,  behind  the  blood- 
posters,  blue  jacket  and  white  hat,  and,  somewhere  about  one 


90  ARRIVAL  TO  DINE. 


o'clock,  mounted  Hampsted  Hill,  and  in  ten  minutes  thence  was 
at  my  destination.  The  postboy  was  about  driving  in  at  the  open 
gate,  but  1  dismounted  and  sent  him  back  to  the  inn  to  leave  his 
horses,  and  then,  depositing  my  bag  at  the  porter's  lodge,  walked 
up  the  avenue.  It  was  a  much  finer  place,  altogether,  than  1 
expected  to  see. 

"  Mrs.  Mimpson  was  in  the  garden.  The  dashing  footman 
who  gave  me  the  information  led  me  through  a  superb  drawing- 
room,  and  out  at  a  glass  door  upon  the  lawn,  and  left  me  to  make 
my  own  way  to  the  lady's  presence. 

u  It  was  a  delicious  spot,  and  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to 
ramble  about  by  myself  till  dinner,  but,  at  a  turn  in  the  grand- 
walk,  I  came  suddenly  upon  two  ladies. 

"  I  made  my  bow,  and  begged  leave  to  introduce  myself  as 
Mr.  Brown.' 

"  With  a  very  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  and  no  smile 
whatever,  one  of  the  ladies  asked  me  if  I  had  walked  from  town, 
and  begged  her  companion  (without  introducing  me  to  her)  to 
show  me  in  to  lunch.  The  spokester  was  a  stout  and  tall  woman, 
who  had  rather  an  aristocratic  nose,  and  was  not  handsome,  but, 
to  give  her  her  due,  she  had  made  a  narrow  escape  of  it.  She 
was  dressed  very  showily,  and  evidently  had  great  pretensions ; 
but,  that  she  was  not  at  all  glad  to  see  Mr.  Brown,  was  as  appa 
rent  as  was  at  all  necessary.  As  the  other,  and  younger  lady, 
who  was  to  accompany  me,  however,  was  very  pretty,  though 
dressed  very  plainly,  and  had,  withal,  a  look  in  her  eye  which 
assured  me  she  was  amused  with  my  unwelcome  apparition,  1 
determined,  as  I  should  not  otherwise  have  done,  to  stay  it  out, 
and  accepted  her  convoy  with  submissive  civility — very  much 
inclined,  however,  to  be  impudent  to  somebody,  somehow. 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  91 

"  The  lunch  was  on  a  tray  in  a  side-room,  and  I  rang  the  bell 
and  ordered  a  bottle  of  champagne.  The  servant  looked  sur 
prised,  but  brought  it,  and  meantime  I  was  getting  through  the 
weather  and  the  other  commonplaces,  and  the  lady,  saying  little, 
was  watching  me  very  calmly.  I  liked  her  looks,  however,  and 
was  sure  she  was  not  a  Mimpson. 

"  'Hand  this  to  Miss  Armstrong!'  said  I  to  the  footman, 
pouring  out  a  glass  of  champagne. 

"  '  Miss  Bellamy,  you  mean,  sir.' 

"  I  rose  and  bowed,  and,  with  as  grave  a  courtesy  as  I  could 
command,  expressed  my  pleasure  at  my  first  introduction  to  Miss 
Bellamy — through  Thomas,  the  footman !  Miss  Bellamy  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  was  pleased  to  compliment  my  American  man 
ners,  and  in  ten  minutes  we  were  a  very  merry  pair  of  friends, 
and  she  accepted  my  arm  for  a  stroll  through  the  grounds,  care 
fully  avoiding  the  frigid  neighborhood  of  Mrs.  Mimpson. 

"  Of  course  I  set  about  picking  Miss  Bellamy's  brains  for  what 
information  I  wanted.  She  turned  out  quite  the  nicest  creature 
I  had  seen  in  England — fresh,  joyous,  natural,  and  clever  ;  and,  as 
I  was  delivered  over  to  her  bodily,  by  her  keeper  and  feeder,  she 
made  no  scruple  of  promenading  me  through  the  grounds  till  the 
dressing  bell — four  of  the  most  agreeable  hours  I  have  to  record 
in  my  travels. 

"  By  Miss  Bellamy's  account,  my  advent  that  day  was  looked 
upon  by  Mrs.  Mimpson  as  an  enraging  calamity.  Mrs.  Mimpson 
was,  herself,  fourth  cousin  to  a  Scotch  lord,  and  the  plague  of  her 
life  was  the  drawback  to  the  gentility  of  her  parties  in  Mimpson's 
mercantile  acquaintance.  She  had  married  the  little  man  for  his 
money,  and  had  thought,  by  living  out  of  town,  to  choose  her 
own  society,  with  hnr  husband  for  hor  only  incnmbranoe  ;  but 


02  UNFORTUNATE  INVITATION 


Mimpson  vowed  that  he  should  be  ruined  in  Mark's  Lane,  if  he 
did  not  house  and  dine  his  mercantile  fraternity  and  their  envoys 
at  Rose  Lodge,  and  they  had  at  last  compromised  the  matter. 
No  Yankee  clerk,  or  German  agent,  or  person  of  any  description, 
defiled  by  trade,  was  to  be  invited  to  the  Lodge  without  a  three 
days'  premonition  to  Mrs.  Mimpson,  and  no  additions  were  to  be 
made,  whatever,  by  Mr.  M.,  to  Mrs.  M's  dinners,  soirees, 
matinees,  archery  parties,  suppers,  dejeuners,  tableaux,  or  private 
theatricals.  This  holy  treaty,  Mrs.  Mimpson  presumed,  was 
written  c  with  a  gad  of  steel  on  a  leaf  of  brass' — inviolable  as  her 
cousin's  coat-of-arms. 

"  But  there  was  still  '  Ossa  on  Pelion.'  The  dinner  of  that 
day  had  a  diplomatic  aim.  Miss  Mimpson  (whom  I  had  not  yet 
seen)  was  ready  to  l  come  out,'  and  her  mother  had  embarked 
her  whole  soul  in  the  enterprise  of  bringing  about  that  debut  at 

Almack's.     Her   best   card   was   a   certain   Lady    S ,  who 

chanced  to  be  passing  a  few  days  in  the  neighborhood,  and  this 
dinner  was  in  her  honor — the  company  chosen  to  impress  her 
with  the  exclusiveness  of  the  Mimpsons,  and  the  prayer  for  her 
ladyship's  influence  (to  procure  vouchers  from  one  of  the  patron 
esses)  was  to  be  made,  when  she  was  c  dieted  to  their  request.' 
And  all  had  hitherto  worked  to  a  charm.  Lady  S had  ac 
cepted — Ude  had  sent  his  best  cook  from  Crockford's — the 
Belgian  charge  and  a  Swedish  attache  were  coming — the  day  was 
beautiful,  and  the  Lodge  was  sitting  for  its  picture  ;  and,  on  the 
very  morning,  when  every  chair  at  the  table  was  ticketed  and 
devoted,  what  should  Mr.  Mimpson  do,  but  send  back  a  special 
messenger  from  the  city,  to  say  that  he  had  forgotten  to  mention 
to  Mrs.  M.  at  breakfast,  that  he  had  invited  Mr.  Brown !  Of 
course  he  had  forgotten  it,  though  it  would  have  been  as  much 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  93 


as  his  eyes  were  worth  to  mention  it  in  person  to  Mrs.  Mimp- 
son. 

"  To  this  information,  which  I  give  you  in  a  lump,  but  which 
came  to  light  in  the  course  of  rather  a  desultory  conversation, 
Miss  Bellamy  thought  I  had  some  title,  from  the  rudeness  of  my 
reception.  It  was  given  in  the  shape  of  a  very  clever  banter,  it 
is  true,  but  she  was  evidently  interested  to  set  me  right  with 
regard  to  Mr.  Mimpson's  good  intentions  in  my  behalf,  and,  as 
far  as  that  and  her  own  civilities  would  do  it,  to  apologise  for  the 
inhospitality  of  Rose  Lodge.  Very  kind  of  the  girl — for  I  was 
passing,  recollect,  at  a  most  ha'penny  valuation. 

u  I  had  made  some  casual  remark  touching  the  absurdity  of 
Almack's  aspirations  in  general,  and  Mrs.  Mimpson's  in  particu 
lar,  and  my  fair  friend,  who  of  course  fancied  an  Almack's  ticket 
as  much  out  of  Mr.  Brown's  reach  as  the  horn  of  the  new  moon, 
took  up  the  defence  of  Mrs.  Mimpson  on  that  point,  and  under 
took  to  dazzle  my  untutored  imagination  by  a  picture  of  this 
seventh  heaven — as  she  had  heard  it  described — for,  to  herself, 
she  freely  confessed,  it  was  not  even  within  the  limits  of  dream 
land.  I  knew  this  was  true  of  herself,  and  thousands  of  highly- 
educated  and  charming  girls  in  England  ;  but  still,  looking  at 
her  while  she  spoke,  and  seeing  what  an  ornament  she  would  be 
to  any  ballroom  in  the  world,  I  realized,  with  more  repugnance 
than  I  had  ever  felt  before,  the  arbitrary  barriers  of  fashion  and 
aristocracy.  As  accident  had  placed  me  in  a  position  to  ( look  on 
the  reverse  of  the  shield,'  I  determined,  if  possible,  to  let  Miss 
Bellamy  judge  of  its  color  with  the  same  advantage.  It  is  not 
often  that  a  plebeian  like  myself  has  the  authority  to 

" '  Bid  the  pebbles  on  the  hungry  beach 
Fillip  the  stars.' 


94  SECRET  INFORMATION. 


"  We  were  near  the  open  window  of  the  library,  and  I  stepped 

in  and  wrote  a  note  to  Lady (one   of  the  lady  patronesses, 

and  the  kindest  friend  I  have  in  England),  asking  for  three 
vouchers  for  the  next  ball.  I  had  had  occasion  once  or  twico 
before  to  apply  for  similar  favors,  for  countrywomen  of  my 
own,  passing  through  London  on  their  travels,  and  I  knew  that 
her  ladyship  thought  no  more  of  granting  them  than  of  returning 
bows  in  Hyde  Park.  I  did  not  name  the  ladies  for  whom  the 
three  tickets  were  intended,  wishing  to  reserve  the  privilege  of 
handing  one  to  Miss  Mimpson,  should  she  turn  out  civil  and  pre 
sentable.  The  third,  of  course,  was  to  Miss  Bellamy's  chaperon, 
whoever  that  might  be,  and  the  party  might  be  extended  to  a 
quartette  by  the  l  Monsieur  De  Trop'  of  the  hour — cela  scion. 
Quite  a  dramatic  plot — wasn't  it  ? 

"  I  knew  that  Lady was  not  very  well,  and  would  be 

found  at  home  by  the  messenger  (my  post-boy),  and  there  was 
time  enough  between  soup  and  coffee  to  go  to  London  and  back, 
even  without  the  spur  in  his  pocket. 

"  The  bell  rang,  and  Miss  Bellamy  took  herself  off  to  dress. 
I  went  to  my  carpet  bag  in  the  bachelor  quarters  of  the  house, 
and  through  a  discreet  entretien  with  the  maid  who  brought  me 
hot  water,  became  somewhat  informed  as  to  my  fair  friend's  posi 
tion  in  the  family.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  who  . 
had  seen  better  days.  They  lived  in  a  retired  cottage  in  the 
neighborhood  ;  and,  as  Miss  Bellamy  and  a  younger  sister  were 
both  very  highly  accomplished,  they  were  usually  asked  to  the 
Lodge,  whenever  there  was  company  to  be  entertained  with  their 
music. 

"  I  was  early  in  the   drawing-room,   and   found   there    Mrs. 
Miinpson  and  a  tall  dragoon  of  ,a  young  lady  I  presumed  to  be  her 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  95 

laughter.  She  did  not  introduce  me.  I  had  hardly  achieved 
my  salutary  salaam  when  Miss  Bellamy  came  in  opportunely, 
and  took  me  off  their  hands,  and,  as  they  addressed  no  conversa 
tion  to  us,  we  turned  over  music,  and  chatted  in  the  corner  while 
the  people  came  in.  It  was  twilight  in  the  reception-room,  and 
[  hoped,  by  getting  on  the  same  side  of  the  table  with  Lady 
5 (whom  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing),  to  escape  recogni 
zance  till  we  joined  the  ladies  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner. 
ALS  the  guests  arrived,  they  were  formally  introduced  to  Miss 
Mimpson  by  the  mother,  and  everybody  but  myself  was  formally 

presented  to  Lady  S ,  the  exception  not  noticeable,  of  course, 

among  thirty  people.  Mr.  Mimpson  came  late  from  the  city, 
possibly  anxious  to  avoid  a  skirmish  on  the  subject  of  his  friend 
Brown,  and  he  entered  the  room  barely  in  time  to  hand  Lady 

S in  to  dinner. 

"  My  tactics  were  ably  seconded  by  my  unconscious  ally.  I 
placed  myself  in  such  a  position  at  table,  that,  by  a  little  man 
agement,  I  kept  Miss  Bellamy's  head  between  me  and  Lady 

S ,  and  my  name  was  not  so  remarkable  as  to  draw  attention 

to  me  when  callc.d  on  to  take  wine  with  the  peccant  spouse  of  the 
'Scotch  lord's  cousin.  Meantime  I  was  very  charmingly  enter 
tained — Miss  Bellamy  not  having,  at  all,  the  fear  of  Mrs.  Mimp 
son  before  her  eyes,  and  apparently  finding  the  Yankee  supercargo, 
or  cotton  clerk,  or  whatever  he  might  be,  quito  worth  trying  her 
land  upon.  The  provender  was  good,  and  the  wine  was  enough 
to  verify  the  apocrypha — at  least  for  the  night — '  a  man  remern- 
)jering  neither  sorrow  nor  debt'  with  such  glorious  claret. 

"  As  I  was  vis-a-vis  to  Miss  Mimpson,  and  only  two  plates 
•emoved  from  her  mother,  I  was  within  reach  of  some  syllable  or 
some  civility,  and  one  would  have  thought  that  good  breeding 


96  RECOGNITIONS. 


might  exact  some  slight  notice  for  the  devil  himself,  under  one's 
own  roof  by  invitation  ;  but  the  large  eyes  of  Miss  Aurelia  and 
her  mamma  passed  over  me  as  if  I  had  on  the  invisible  ring  of 
Gyges.  I  wonder,  by-the-way,  whether  the  ambitious  youths 
who  go  to  London  and  Paris  with  samples,  and  come  back  and 
sport  i  the  complete  varnish  of  a  man'  acquired  in  foreign  society 
— I  wonder  whether  they  take  these  rubs  to  be  part  of  their 
polishing  ! 

"  The  ladies  rose  and  left  us,  and  as  I  had  no  more  occasion 
to  dodge  heads,  or  trouble  myself  with  humility,  I  took  Lady 

S 's  place  at  old  Mimpson's  right  hand,  and  was  immediately 

recognized  with  great  e?npressemcnt  by  the  Belgian  charge,  who 
had  met  me  '  very  often,  in  very  agreeable  society.'  Mimpson 
stared,  and  evidently  took  it  for  a  bit  of  flummery  or -a  mistake  ; 
but  he  presently  stared  again,  for  the  butler  came  in  with  a  cor- 
onetted  note  on  his  silver  tray,  and  the  seal  side  up,  and  pre 
sented  it  to  me  with  a  most  deferential  bend  of  his  white  coat. 
I  felt  the  vouchers  within,  and  pocketed  it  without  opening,  and 
we  soon  after  rose  and  went  to  the  drawing-room  for  our  coflee. 

"  Lady  S sat  with  her  back  to  the  door,  beseiged  by  Mrs. 

Mimpson  ;  and,  at  the  piano,  beside  Miss  Bellamy,  who  was  pre 
paring  to  play,  stood  one  of  the  loveliest  young  creatures  possible 
to  fancy.  A  pale  and  high-bred  looking  lady  in  widow's  weeds 
sat  near  them,  and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  making  out  who  were 
the  after-dinner  additions  to  the  party.  I  joined  them,  and  wag 
immediately  introduced  by  Miss  Bellamy  to  her  mother  and 
sister,  with  whom  (after  a  brilliant  duet  by  the  sisters)  I  strolled 
out  upon  the  lawn  for  an  hour — for  it  was  a  clear  night,  and  the 
inoon  and  soft  air  almost  took  me  back  to  Italy.  And  (perhaps 


BROWN'S   DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  97 

by  a  hint  from  Miss  Bellamy)  I  was  allowed  to  get  on  very  expe- 
ditiously  in  my  acquaintance  with  her  mother  and  sister. 

"  My  new  friends  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and,  as  the 
adjoining  library  was  lighted,  I  went  in  and  filled  up  the  blank 
vouchers  with  the  names  of  Mrs.  Bellamy  and  her  daughters.  I 
listened  a  moment  to  the  conversation  in  the  next  room.  The 
subject  was  Almack's,  and  was  discussed  with  great  animation. 

Lady  S ,  who  seemed  to  me  trying  to  escape  the  trap  they 

had  baited  for  her,  was  quietly  setting  forth  the  difficulties  of 
procuring  vouchers,  and  recommending  to  Mrs.  Mimpson  not  to 
subject  herself  to  the  mortification  of  a  refusal.  Old  Mimpson 
backed  up  this  advice  with  a  stout  approval,  and  this  brought 
Mrs.  Mimpson  out  4  horse  and  foot,'  and  she  declared  that  she 
would  submit  to  anything,  do  anything,  give  anything,  rather 
than  fail  in  this  darling  object  of  her  ambition.  She  would  feel 
under  eternal  inexpressible  obligations  to  any  friend  who  would 
procure,  for  herself  and  daughter,  admission  for  but  one  night  to 
Almack's. 

"  And  then  came  in  the  sweet  voice  of  Miss  Bellamy,  who 
1  knew  it  was  both  wrong  and  silly,  but  she  would  give  ten  years 
of  her  life  to  go  to  one  of  Almack's  balls,  and,  in  a  long  conver 
sation  she  had  had  with  Mr.  Brown  on  the  subject  that  morn 
ing ' 

"  '  Ah !'  interrupted   Lady   S ,  '  if  it  had  been  the  Mr. 

Brown,  you  would  have  had  very  little  trouble  about  it.' 

"  '  And  who  is  the  Mr.  Brown  :'  asked  Mrs.  Mimpson. 

"  '  The  pet  and  protege  of  the  only  lady  patroness  I  do  not 

visit,'  said  Lady  S ,   and  unluckily,   too,  the  only  one  who 

thinks  the  vouchers  great  rubbish,  and  gives  them  away  without 
thought  or  scruple.' 
5 


98  TICKETS  TO  ALMACK'S. 


"  At  that  moment  I  entered  the  room. 

"  4  Good    heavens!'    screamed    Lady   S ,   'is    that    his 

ghost?     Why,  Mr.  Brown!'  she  gasped,  giving  me  her  hand 
very  cautiously,  i  do  you  appear  when  you  are  talked  of,  like — 

like— like ' 

"  l  Like  the  devil  ?  No  !  But  I  am  here  in  the  body,  and 
very  much  at  your  ladyship's  service,'  said  I,  c  for  of  course  you 
are  going  to  the  Duke's  to-night,  and  so  am  I.  Will  you  take  me 
with  you,  or  shall  my  po-sha  follow  where  I  belong — in  your 
train?" 

"  '  I'll  take  you,  of  course,'  said  her  ladyship,  rising,  '  but  first 
about  these  vouchers.  You  have  just  come,  and  didn't  hear  our 
discussion.  Mrs.  Mimpson  is  extremely  anxious  that  her 
daughter  should  come  out  at  Almack's,  and,  as  I  happened  to 
say,  the  moment  before  you  entered,  you  are  the  very  person 

to   procure   the  tickets  from   Lady .     How   very  odd   that 

you  should  come  in  just  then  !     But  tell  us — can  you  ?' 

"  A  dead  silence  followed  the  question.     Mrs.  Mimpson  sat 

with  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  the  picture  of  dismay  and  mortification. 

Miss  Mimpson  blushed  and  twisted  her  handkerchief,  and  Miss 

Bellamy  looked  at  her  hostess,  half  amused  and  half  distressed. 

"  I  handed  the  three  vouchers  to  Miss  Bellamy,  and  begged 

her  acceptance   of  them,  and  then,  turning  to  Lady  S , 

without  waiting  for  a  reply,  regretted  that,  not  having  had  the 
pleasure  of  being  presented  to  Miss  Mimpson,  I  had  not  felt 
authorised  to  include  her  in  my  effort  to  oblige  Miss  Bellamy. 
"  And,   what  with  old  Mimpson's   astonishment,    and   Lady 

S 's  immediate  tact  in  covering,  by  the  bustle  of  departure, 

what  she  did  not  quite  understand,  though  she  knew  it  was  some 
awkward  contre-temps  or  other,  I  found  time  to   receive    Miss  i 


BROWN'S  DAY  WITH  THE  MIMPSON'S.  99 

Bellamy's  thanks,  and  get  permission  from  the  mother  to  call  and 
arrange  this  unexpected  party,  and,  in  ten  minutes,  I  was  on  my 
way  to  London  with  Lady  S—  — ,  amusing  her  almost  into  fits 
with  my  explanations  of  the  Mimpson  mystery. 

"  Lady  S—  -  was  to  be  still  at  Hampstead  for  a  few  days, 
and,  at  my  request,  she  called  with  me  on  the  Bellamys,  and 
invited  the  girls  up  to  town.  Rose  Bellamy,  the  younger,  is  at 
this  moment  one  of  the  new  stars  of  the  season  accordingly,  and 
Miss  Bellamy  and  I  carry  on  the  war,  weekly,  at  Almack's,  and 

nightly  at  some  wax-light  paradise  or  other,  and  Lady  S 

has  fallen  in  love  with  them  both,  and  treats  them  like  daughters. 

"  So  you  sec,  though  I  passed  for  a  ha'penny  with  the  Mimp- 
son's,  I  turned  out  a  sovereign  to  the  Bellamys. 

"  Pass  the  bottle  !" 


MR,  AND  MRS,  FOLLETT; 

OR,  THE  DANGERS  OF  MEDDLING  WITH  MARRIED  PEOPLE. 


THERE  are  two  commodities,  much  used  by  gentlemen,  neither 
of  which  will  bear  tinkering  or  tampering  with — matrimony  and 
patent  leather.  Their  necessities  are  fair  weather  and  untroubled 
wear  and  tear.  Ponder  on  the  following  melancholy  example ! 

My  friend  Follett  married  a  lady,  contrary  to  my  advice.  I 
gave  the  advice  contrary  to  my  wont  and  against  my  will.  He 
would  have  it.  The  lady  was  a  tolerably  pretty  woman,  on 
whose  original  destiny  it  was  never  written  that  she  should  be  a 
belle.  How  she  became  one  is  not  much  matter ;  but  nature 
being  thoroughly  taken  by  surprise  with  her  success,  had  neg 
lected  to  provide  the  counterpoise.  I  say  it  is  no  great  matter 
how  she  became  a  belle — nor  is  it — for,  if  such  things  were  to  be 
accounted  for  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  sex,  the  world  have  little 
time  for  other  speculations  ;  but  I  will  devote  a  single  paragraph 
to  the  elucidation  of  this  one  of  many  mysteries,  for  a  reasor 
I  have.  Ftenam  habet  in  cornu. 

Poets  are  the  least  fastidious,  and  the  least  discriminating  o~  ! 
men,  in  their  admiration  of  women  (vide  Byron],  partly  because  : 
their  imagination,  like  sunshine,  glorifies  all  that  turns  to  it,  with  j 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FOLLETT.  1Q1 


Dut  which  they  were  not  poets,  is  both  'mdeleafr  ctn\l  imperial, 
from  both  causes  waiting  always  to  be  sought.  In  some  circles, 
bards  are  rather  comets  than  stars,  and  thf  ono  waose  orbit  for  a 
few  days  intersected  that  of  Miss  Adele  Burnham,  was  the  ex 
clusive  marvel  of  the  hour.  Like  other  poets,  the  one  of  which  I 
speak  was  concentrative  in  his  attentions,  and  he  chose  (why,  the 
gods  knew  better  than  the  belles  of  the  season)  to  have  neither 
eyes  nor  ears,  flowers,  flatteries,  nor  verses,  for  any  other  than 
Miss  Burnham.  He  went  on  his  way,  but  the  incense,  in  which 
he  had  enveloped  the  blest  Adele,  lingered  like  a  magic  atmos 
phere  about  h§r,  and  Toin  Follett  and  all  his  tribe  breathed  it  in 
blind  adoration.  I  trust  the  fair  reader  has  here  nodded  her 
head,  in  evidence  that  this  history  of  the  belleship  of  Miss 
Burnham  is  no  less  brief  than  natural  and  satisfactory. 

When  Follett  came  to  me  with  the  astounding  information  that 
he  intended  to  propose  to  Miss  Burnham  (he  had  already  pro 
posed  and  been  accepted,  the  traitor!)  my  fancy  at  once  took 
tlie  prophetic  stride  so  natural  on  the  first  breaking  of  such  news, 
and,  in  the  five  minutes  which  I  took  for  reflection,  I  had  travelled 
far  into  that  land  of  few  delusions — holy  matrimony.  Before  me, 
in  all  the  changeful  variety  of  a  magic  mirror,  came  and  went 
the  many  phases  of  which  that  multiform  creature,  woman,  is 
susceptible.  I  saw  her  in  diamonds  and  satin,  and  in  kitchen- 
apron  and  curl  "-papers  ;  in  delight,  and  in  the  dumps  ;  in  suppli 
cation,  and  in  resistance  ;  shod  like  a  fairy  in  French  shoes,  and 
slip-shod  (as  perhaps  fairies  are,  too,  in  their  bed-rooms-  and 
dairies).  I  saw  her  approaching  the  climacteric  of  age,  and 
receding  from  it — -a  mother,  a  nurse,  an  invalid — mum  over  her 
breakfast,  chatty  over  her  tea — doing  the  honors  at  Tom's  table, 
and  mending,  with  sober  diligence,  Tom's  straps  and  suspenders. 
The  kaleidoscope  of  fancy  exhausted  its  combinations. 


102  ADVICE. 

''•  Tom !"  sale  I  (looking  up  affectionately,  for  he  was  one  of 
my  weaknesses,  was  Tom,  and  I  indulged  myself  in  loving  him 
Tvitnoiit  a  reason),  "•  Miss  Burnham  is  in  the  best  light  where  she 
is.  If  she  cease  to  be  a  belle,  as  of  course  she  will,  should  she 
marry " 

"  Of  course  !"  interrupted  Tom,  very  gravely. 

"  Well,  in  that  case,  she  lays  off  the  goddess,  trust  me  !  You 
will  like  her  to  dress  plainly — " 

"  Quite  plain !" 

"  And,  stripped  of  her  plumage,  your  bird  of  Paradise  would  be 
nothing  but  a  very  indifferent  hen— with  the  Disadvantage  of 
remembering  that  she  had  been  a  bird  of  P&radise." 

"  But  it  was  not  her  dress  that  attracted  the  brilliant  author 
of " 

Possibly  not.  But,  as  the  false  gods  of  mythology  are  only 
known  by  th  eir  insignia,  Jupiter  by  his  thunderbolt,  and  Mercury 
by  his  talaria  and  caduceus,  so  a  woman,  worshipped  by  accident, 
will  find  a  change  of  exterior  nothing  less  than  a  laying  aside  of 
her  divinity.  That's  a  didactic  sentence,  but  you  will  know  what 
I  mean,  when  I  tell  you  that  I,  myself,  cannot  see  a  pair  of  coral 
ear-rings  without  a  sickness  of  the  heart,  though  the  woman  who 
once  wore  them,  and  who  slighted  me  twenty  years  ago,  sits  before 
me  in  church,  without  diverting  a  thought  from  the  sermon. 
Don't  marry  her,  Tom  !" 

Six  weeks  after  this  conversation,  I  was  at  the  wedding,  and 
the  reader  will  please  pass  to  the  rear  the  six  succeeding  months 
— short  time  as  it  seems — to  record  a  change  in  the  bland  sky  of 
matrimony.  It  was  an  ellipse  in  our  friendship  as  well ;  for  advice 
(contrary  to  our  wishes  and  intentions)  is  apt  to  be  resented,  and 
I  fancied,  from  the  northerly  bows  I  received  from  Mrs.  Follett. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  EOLLETT.  103 

that  my  friend  had  made  a  merit  to  her  of  having  married  con 
trary  to  my  counsel.  At  the  end  of  this  period  Tom  called 
on  me. 

Follett,  I  should  have  said,  was  a  man  of  that  undecided  ex 
terior  which  is  perfectly  at  the  mercy  of  a  cravat  or  waistcoat. 
He  looked  "  snob"  or  "  nob,"  according  to  the  care  with  which 
he  had  made  his  toilet.  While  a  bachelor,  of  course,  he  could 
never  afford,  in  public,  a  negligence  or  a  mistake,  and  was  inva 
riably  an  elegant  man,  harmonious  and  "  pin-point  "  from  straps 
to  whiskers.  But  alas !  the  security  of  wedded  life !  When 
Tom  entered  my  room,  I  perused  him  as  a  walking  homily.  His 
coat,  still  made  on  the  old  measure,  was  buttoned  only  at  the  top, 
the  waist  being  rather  snug,  and  his  waistcoat  pockets  loaded  with 
the  copper  which  in  his  gayer  days  he  always  left  on  the  counter. 
His  satin  cravat  was  frayed  and  brownish,  with  the  tie  slipped 
almost  under  his  ear.  The  heel  of  his  right  boot  (he  trod 
straight  on  the  other  foot)  almost  looked  him  in  the  face.  His 
•  pantaloons  (the  one  article  of  dress  in  which  there  are  no  grada 
tions — nothing,  if  not  perfect)  were  bulged  and  strained.  He 
wore  a  frightfully  new  hat,  no  gloves,  and  carried  a  baggy  brown 
umbrella,  which  was,  in  itself,  a  most  expressive  portrait  of 
"  gone  to  seed."  Tom  entered  with  his  usual  uppish  carriage, 
and,  through  the  how-d'ye-dos,  and  the  getting  into  his  chair, 
carried  off  the  old  manner  to  a  charm.  In  talking  of  the  weather, 
a  moment  after,  his  eye  fell  on  his  stumpy  umbrella,  which,  with 
an  unconscious  memory  of  an  old  affectation  with  his  cane,  he  was 
balancing  on  the  toe  of  his  boot,  and  the  married  look  slid  over 
j  him  like  a  mist.  Down  went  his  head  between  his  shoulders, 
i  and  down  went  the  corners  of  his  mouth — down  the  inflation  of 
I  his  chest  like  a  collapsed  balloon  ;  and  down,  in  its  youth  and 


104  JEALOUSY. 


expression,  it  seemed  to  me,  every  muscle  of  his  face.  He  had 
assumed  in  a  minute  the  style  and  countenance  of  a  man  ten 
years  older. 

I  smiled.     How  could  I  but  smile  ! 

"  Then  you  have  heard  of  it !"  exclaimed  Tom,  suddenly 
starting  to  his  feet,  and  flushing  purple  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  Heard  of  what  ?» 

My  look  of  surprise  evidently  took  him  aback ;  and,  seating 
himself  again  with  confused  apologies,  Tom  proceeded  to  "  make 
a  clean  breast,"  on  a  subject  which  I  had  not  anticipated. 

It  seemed  that,  far  from  moulting  her  feathers  after  marriage, 
according  to  my  prediction,  Mrs.  Follett  clearly  thought  that  she 
had  not  yet  "  strutted  her  hour,"  and,  though  everything  Tom 
could  wish,  behind  the  curtain,  in  society  she  had  flaunted  and 
flirted,  not  merely  with  no  diminution  of  zest  from  the  wedding- 
day,  but,  her  husband  was  of  opinion,  with  a  ratio  alarmingly 
increasing.  Her  present  alliance  was  with  a  certain  Count 
Hautenbas,  the  lion  of  the  moment,  and  though  doubtless  one  in 
which  vanity  alone  was  active,  Tom's  sense  of  connubial  pro 
priety  was  at  its  last  gasp.  He  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He 
wished  my  advice  in  the  choice  between  twg  courses.  Should  he 
call  out  the  Frenchman,  or  should  he  take  advantage  of  the  law's 
construction  of  "  moral  insanity,"  and  shut  her  up  in  a  mad 
house. 

My  advice  had  been  of  so  little  avail  in  the  first  instance,  that 
I  shrank  from  troubling  Tom  with  any  more  of  it,  and  certainly 
should  have  evaded  it  altogether,  but  for  an  experiment  I  wished 
to  make,  as  much  for  my  own  satisfaction  as  for  the  benefit  oi 
that  large  class,  the  unhappy  married. 

"  Your  wife  is  out  every  night,  T  suppose,  Tom  ?" 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FOLLETT. 


105 


"  Every  niglit  when  she  has  no  party  at  home." 

"  Do  you  go  with  her  always  ?" 

"  I  go  for  her  usually — but  the  truth  is,  that,  since  I  married, 
parties  bore  me,  and  after  seeing  my  wife  off,  I  commonly  smoke 
and  snooze,  or  read,  or  run  into  Bob  Thomas's  and  *  talk  horse,' 
till  I  have  just  time  to  be  in  at  the  death." 

"  And  when  you  get  there,  you  don't  dance  ?" 

"  Not  I,  faith  !   I  haven't  danced  since  I  was  married  !" 

"  But  you  used  to  be  the  best  waltzer  of  the  day." 

"  Well,  the  music  sometimes  gets  into  my  heels  now,  but, 
when  I  remember  I  am  married,  the  fit  cools  off.  The  deuce 
take  it !  a  married  man  shouldn't  be  seen  whirling  -round  the  room 
with  a  girl  in  his  arms  !" 

"  I  presume  that,  were  you  still  single,  you  would  fancy  your 
chance  to  be  as  good  for  ladies'  favors  as  any  French  count's 
that  ever  came  over  r" 

"  Ehem  !  why— yes  !" 

Tom  pulled  up  his  collar. 

"  And  if  you  had  access  to  her  society  all  day  and  all  night, 
and  the  Frenchman  only  an  hour  or  two  in  the  evening,  any 
given  lady  being  the  object,  you  would  bet  freely  on  your  own 
head?" 

"  I  see  your  drift,"  said  Tom,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  but 
it  won't  do  !" 

"  No,  indeed — it  is  what  would  have  done.  You  had  at  the 
start  a  much  better  chance  with  your  wife  than  Count  Hautenbas ; 
but  husbands  and  lovers  are  the  '  hare  and  the  tortoise'  of  the 
fable.  We  must  resort  now  to  other  means.  Will  you  follow  my 
advice,  as  well  as  take  it,  should  I  be  willing  again  to  burn  my 
fingers  in  your  affairs  ?" 


10t>  BREST  OR  NOT. 


The  eagerness  of  Tom's  protestations  quite  made  the  amende  to 
my  mortified  self-complacency,  and  I  entered  zealously  into  my 
little  plot  for  his  happiness.  At  this  moment  I  heartily  wish  I 
had  sent  him  and  his  affairs  to  the  devil,  and  (lest  I  should  forget 
it  at  the  close  of  this  tale)  I  here  caution  all  men,  single  and 
double,  against  "  meddling  or  making,"  marring  or  mending,  in 
matrimonial  matters.  The  alliteration  may,  perhaps,  impress 
this  salutary  counsel  on  the  mind  of  the  reader. 

I  passed  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  repairing  the  damage  of 
Tom's  person.  I  had  his  whiskers  curled  and  trimmed  even,  (his 
left  whisker  was  an  inch  nearer  his  nose  than  the  right),  and  his 
teeth  looked  to  by  the  dentist.  I  stood  by,  to  be  sure  that  there 
was  no  carelessness  in  his  selection  of  patent  leathers,  and,  on  his 
assuring  me  that  he  was  otherwise  well  provided,  I  suffered  him  to 
go  home  to  dress,  engaging  him  to  dine  with  me  at  seven. 

He  was  punctual  to  the  hour.  By  Jove  I  could  scarce  believe 
it  was  the  same  man.  The  consciousness  of  being  well  dressed 
seemed  to  have  brightened  his  eyes  and  lips,  as  it  certainly 
changed  altogether  his  address  and  movements.  He  had  a  narrow 
escape  of  being  handsome.  After  all,  it  is  only  a  "  man  of  mark," 
or  an  Apollo,  who  can  well  afford  to  neglect  the  outer  man ;  and 
a  judicious  negligence,  or  a  judicious  plainness,  is  probably  worth 
the  attention  of  both  the  man  of  mark  and  the  Apollo.  Tom  was 
quite  another  order  of  creature — a  butterfly  that  was  just  now  a 
worm — and  would  have  been  treated  with  more  consideration  in 
consequence,  even  by  those  least  tolerant  of  "  the  pomps  and 
vanities."  We  dined  temperately,  and  I  superseded  the  bottle  by 
a  cup  of  strong  green  tea,  at  an  early  moment  after  the  removal 
of  the  cloth,  determined  to  have  Tom's  wits  in  as  full  dress  as  his 
person.  Without  being  at  all  a  brilliant  man,  he  was — the  next 


MR.  AND  MRS.  FOLLETT.  197 


best  thing — a  steady  absorbent ;  and  as  most  women  are  more 
fond  of  giving  than  receiving  in  all  things,  but  particularly  in  con 
versation,  I  was  not  uneasy  as  to  his  power  of  making  himself 
agreeable.  Nor  was  he,  faith  ! 

The  ball  of  the  night  was  at  the  house  of  an  old  friend  of  my 
own,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Follett  were  but  newly  introduced  to  the 
circle.  I  had  the  company  very  clearly  in  my  eye,  therefore, 
while  casting  about  for  dramatis  persona^  and  fixing  upon  Mrs. 
Beverly  Fairlie,  for  the  prominent  character,  I  assured  success, 
though  being  very  much  in  love  with  that  coquettish  widow 
myself,  I  had  occasion  for  some  self-denial  in  the  matter.  Of 
Mrs.  Fairlic's  weak  points  (on  which  it  seemed  necessary  that  I 
should  enlighten  Tom),  I  had  information  not  to  be  acquired  short 
of  summering  and  wintering  her,  and,  with  my  eye  solely  directed 
to  its  effect  upon  Mrs.  Follett,  I  put  the  clues  into  my  friend's 
hands  in  a  long  after-dinner  conversation.  As  he  seemed  im 
patient  to  open  the  campaign,  after  getting  these  definite  and 
valuable  instructions,  I  augured  well  for  his  success,  and  we 
entered  the  ball-room  in  high  spirits. 

It  was  quite  enough  to  say  to  the  mischievous  widow  that 
another  woman  was  to  be  piqued  by  any  attentions  she  might 
choose  to  pay  Mr.  Follett.  Having  said  thus  much,  and  pre 
sented  Tom,  I  sought  out  Mrs.  Follett  myself,  with  the  double 
purpose  of  breaking  up  the  monopoly  of  Mons.  Hautenbas,  and  of 
directing  her  attention,  should  it  be  necessary,  to  the  suavities 
between  Tom  and  the  widow. 

It  was  a  superb  ball,  and  the  music,  as  Tom  said,  went  to  the 
heels.  The  thing  he  did  well  was  waltzing,  and,  after  taking  a 
turn  or  two  with  Mrs.  Fairlie,  the  rusee  dame  ran  up  to  Mrs 


108  COUNTEll  FLIRTATION 


Follett  with  the  most  innocent  air  imaginable,  and  begged  the 
loan  of  her  husband  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  !  I  did  not  half 
like  the  look  of  earnest  with  which  she  entered  into  the  affair, 
indeed,  and  there  was  little  need  of  my  taking  much  trouble  to 
enlighten  Mrs.  Follett ;  for  a  woman  so  surprised  with  a  six 
months'  husband  I  never  saw.  They  were  so  capitally  matched, 
Tom  and  the  widow,  in  size,  motion,  style  of  waltzing,  and  all, 
that  not  we  only,  but  the  whole  party,  were  occupied  with  ob 
serving  and  admiring  them.  Mrs.  Follett  and  I  (for  a  secret 
sympathy,  somehow,  drew  us  together,  as  the  thing  went  on) 
kept  up  a  broken  conversation,  in  which  the  Count  was  even  less 
interested  than  we  ;  and  after  a  few  ineffectual  attempts  to  draw 
her  into  the  tea-room,  the  Frenchman  left  us  in  pique,  and  we 
gave  ourselves  up  to  the  observation  of  the  couple  who  (we 
presumed)  severally  belonged  to  us.  They  carried  on  the  war 
famously,  to  be  sure  !  Mrs.  Fairlie  was  a  woman  who  could  do 
as  she  liked,  because  she  would  ;  and  she  cared  not  a  straw  for 
the  very  protwncd  demonstration  of  engrossing  one  man  for  all 
the  quadrilles,  waltzes,  and  gallopades,  beside  going  with  him  to 
supper.  Once  or  twice  I  tried  to  find  an  excuse  for  leaving  Mrs. 
Follett,  to  put  in  an  oar  for  myself ;  but  the  little  woman  clung 
to  me  as  if  she  had  not  the  courage  to  undertake  another  person's 
amusement,  and,  new  and  sudden  as  the  feeling  must  have  been, 
she  was  pale  and  wretched,  with  a  jealousy  more  bitter,  probably, 
than  mine.  Tom  never  gave  me  a  look  after  the  first  waltz  ;  and 
as  to  the  widow,  she  played  her  part  with  rather  more  zeal  than 
we  set  down  for  her.  I  passed  altogether  an  uncomfortable 
night,  for  a  gay  one,  and  it  was  a  great  relief  to  me  when  Mrs. 
Follett  asked  me  to  send  Tom  for  the  carriage. 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  send  a  servant  for  it,"  said  Follett,  very 


Mil.  AND  MRS.  FOLLETT.  1Q9 


coolly,  "  and  say  to  Mrs.  Follett,  that  I  will  join  her  at  home. 
I  am  going  to  sup,  or  rather  breakfast,  with  Mrs.  Beverly 
Fairlie  !" 

Here  was  a  mess  ! 

"  Shall  I  send  the  Count  for  your  shawl  r"  I  asked,  after  giving 
this  message,  and  wishing  to  know  whether  she  was  this  side  of 
pride  in  her  unhappiness. 

The  little  woman  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  will  sit  in  the  cloak-room  till  my  husband  is  ready,1'  she 
said ;  u  go  to  him,  if  you  please,  and  implore  him  to  come  and 
speak  to  me." 

As  I  said  before,  I  wished  the  whole  plot  to  the  devil.     We 

had  achieved  our  object,  it  is  true — and  so  did  the  man  who 

knocked  the  breath  out  of  his  friend's  body,  in  killing  a  fly  on  his 

back.     Tom  is  now  (this  was  years  ago)  a  married  flirt  of  some 

celebrity,  for,  after  coming  out  of  the  widow's  hands  with  a  three 

months'  education,  he  had  quite  forgot  to  be  troubled  about  Mrs. 

Follett ;  and,  instead  of  neglecting  his  dress,  which  was  his  only 

sin  when  I  took  him  in  hand,  he  now  neglects  his  wife,  who  sees 

him,  as  women  are   apt  to  see  their  husbands,  through   other 

women's   eyes.     I  presume   they  are   doomed  to  quite  as  much 

unhappiness  as  would  have  fallen  to   their  lot,  had  I  left  them 

i  alone — had  Mrs.  Follett  ran  away  with  the  Frenchman,  and  had 

l  Tom  died   a  divorced  sloven.     But  when  I  think  that,  beside 

achieving  little  for  them,  I  was  the  direct  means  of  spoiling  Mrs. 

I  Beverly  Fairlie  for  myself,  I  think  I  may  write  myself  down  as  a 

||  warning  to  meddlers  in  matrimony. 


LADY  RAVELGOLD, 


CHAPTER  1. 

"  What  would  it  pleasure  me  to  have  my  throat  cut 
With  diamonds  ?  or  to  be  smothered  quick 
With  cassia,  or  be  shot  to  death  with  pearls  ?" 

DUCHESS  OF  MALFY. 

"  I've  been  i'  the  Indies  twice,  and  seen  strange  things— 
But  two  honest  women  I— One  I  read  of  once  !" 

RULE  A  WIFE. 

IT  was  what  is  called  by  people  on  the  continent  a  "  London 
day."  A  thin,  grey  mist  drizzled  down  through  the  smoke  which 
darkened  the  long  cavern  of  Fleet  street;  the  sidewalks  were 
slippery  and  clammy ;  the  drays  slid  from  side  to  side  on  the 
greasy  pavement,  creating  a  perpetual  clamor  among  the  lighter 
carriages  with  which  they  came  in  contact ;  the  porters  wondered 
that  "  gemmen"  would  carry  their  umbrellas  up  when  there  was 
no  rain,  and  the  gentlemen  wondered  that  porters  should  be  per 
mitted  on  the  sidewalks ;  there  were  passengers  in  box-coats, 
though  it  was  the  first  of  May,  and  beggars  with  bare  breasts, 
though  it  was  chilly  as  November ;  the  boys  were  looking  wist 
fully  into  the  hosier's  windows  who  were  generally  at  the  pastry 
cook's  ;  and  there  were  persons  who  wished  to  know  the  time, 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  HI 


trying  in  vain  to  see  the  dial  of  St.  Paul's  through  the  gamboge 
atmosphere. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  a  plain  chariot,  with  a  simple  crest 
on  the  panels,  slowly  picked  its  way  through  the  choked  and  dis 
puted  thoroughfare  east  of  Temple  Bar.  The  smart  glazed  hat 
of  the  coachman,  the  well-fitted  drab  greatcoat  and  gaiters  of  the 
footman,  and  the  sort  of  half-submissive,  half-contemptuous  look 
on  both  their  faces  (implying  that  they  were  bound  to  drive  to  the 
devil  if  it  were  miladi's  orders,  but  that  the  rabble  of  Fleet 
street  was  a  leetle  too  vulgar  for  their  contact),  expressed  very 
plainly  that  the  lady  within  was  a  denizen  of  a  more  privileged 
quarter,  but  had  chosen  a  rainy  day  for  some  compulsory  visit  to 
"the  city." 

At  the  rate  of  perhaps  a  mile  an  hour,  the  well-groomed  night- 
horses  (a  pair  of  smart,  hardy,  twelve-mile  cabs,  all  bottom,  but 
little  style,  kept  for  night-work  and  forced  journeys)  had  threaded 
the  tortuous  entrails  of  London,  and  had  arrived  at  the  arch  of  a 
dark  court  in  Throgmorton  street.  The  coachman  put  his 
wheels  snug  against  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  to  avoid  being 
crushed  by  the  passing  drays,  and  settled  his  many-caped  ben 
jamin  about  him ;  while  the  footman  spread  his  umbrella,  and 
making  a  balustrade  of  his  arm  for  his  mistress's  assistance,  a 
closely-veiled  lady  descended,  and  disappeared  up  the  wet  and  ill- 
paved  avenue. 

The  green-baize  door  of  Firkins  and  Co.  opened  on  its  silent 
hinges  and  admitted  the  mysterious  visiter,  who,  inquiring  of  the 
nearest  clerk  if  the  junior  partner  were  in,  was  shown  to  a  small 
inner  room  containing  a  desk,  two  chairs,  a  coal  fire,  and  a  young 
gentleman.  The  last  article  of  furniture  rose  on  the  lady's 
entrance,  and,  as  she  threw  off  her  veil,  he  made  a  low  bow,  with 


LADY'S  VISIT  TO  A  BANKER. 


the  air  of  a  gentleman  who  is  neither  surprised  nor  embarrassed, 
and,  pushing  aside  the  door-check,  they  were  left  alone. 

There  was  that  forced  complaisance  in  the  lady's  manner,  or 
her  first  entrance,  which  produced  the  slightest  possible  elevatior 
of  a  very  scornful  lip  owned  by  the  junior  partner ;  but  the  lady  was 
only  forty-five,  highborn,  and  very  handsome,  and,  as  she  lookec 
at  the  fine  specimen  of  nature's  nobility,  who  met  her  with  a  lool 
as  proud  and  yet  as  gentle  as  her  own,  the  smoke  of  Fleet  streel 
passed  away  from  her  memory,  and  she  became  natural  and  ever 
gracious.  The  effect  upon  the  junior  partner  was  simply  that  o: 
removing  from  his  breast  the  shade  of  her  first  impression. 

"  I  have  brought  you,"  said  his  visiter,  drawing  a  card  fron 
her  reticule,  "  an  invitation  to  the  "  Duchess  of  Hautaigle's  ball 
She  sent  me  half  a  dozen  to  fill  up  for  what  she  calls  c  orna 
mentals' — and  I  am  sure  I  shall  scarce  find  another  who  comes  S( 
decidedly  under  her  Grace's  category." 

The  fair  speaker  had  delivered  this  pretty  speech  in  the 
sweetest  and  best-bred  tone  of  St.  James's,  looking  the  while  a 
the  toe  of  the  small  brodequin  which  she  held  up  to  the  fire— 
perhaps  thinking  only  of  drying  it.  As  she  concluded  her  sen 
tence,  she  turned  to  her  companion  for  an  answer,  and  was  sur 
prised  at  the  impassive  politeness  of  his  bow  of  acknowledgment. 

"  I  regret  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  avail  myself  of  your  lady 
ship's  kindness,"  said  the  junior  partner,  in  the  same  well 
enunciated  tone  of  courtesy. 

"  Then,"   replied   the   lady  with   a  smile,    "  Lord  Augusta 
Fitz-Moi,  who  looks  at  himself  all  dinner-time  in  a  spoon,  will  b 
the  Apollo  of  the  hour.     What  a  pity  such  a  handsome  creatur' 
should  be  so  vain  ! — By-the-way,  Mr.  Firkins,  you  live  withou  , 
a  looking-glass,  I  see." 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  113 

"  Your  ladyship  reminds  me  that  this  is  merely  a  place  of 
business.  May  I  ask  at  once  what  errand  has  procured  me  the 
honor  of  a  visit  on  so  unpleasant  a  day  ?" 

A  slight  flush  brightened  the  cheek  and  forehead  of  the  beau 
tiful  woman,  as  she  compressed  her  lips,  and  forced  herself  to  say 
with  affected  ease,  "  The  want  of  five  hundred  pounds." 

The  junior  partner  paused  an  instant,  while  the  lady  tapped 
with  her  boot  upon  the  fender  in  ill-dissembled  anxiety,  and  then, 
turning  to  his  desk,  he  filled  up  the  check  without  remark,  pre 
sented  it,  and  took  his  hat  to  wait  on  her  to  the  carriage.  A 
gleam  of  relief  and  pleasure  shot  over  her  countenance  as  she 
closed  her  small  jewelled  hand  over  it,  followed  immediately  by  a 
look  of  embarrassed  inquiry  into  the  face  of  the  unquestioning 
banker. 

"  I  am  in  }Tour  debt  already." 

"  Thirty  thousand  pounds,  madam  !" 

"  And  for  this  you  think  the  securities  on  the  estate  of  Rock- 
land—" 

"  Are  worth  nothing,  madam  !  But  it  rains.  I  regret  that 
your  ladyship's  carriage  cannot  come  to  the  door.  In  the  old- 
fashioned  days  of  sedan-chairs,  now,  the  dark  courts  of  Lothbury 
must  have  been  more  attractive.  By-the-way,  talking  of  Loth 
bury,  there  is  Lady  Roseberry's  fete  champetre  next  week.  If 
you  should  chance  to  have  a  spare  card " 

"  Twenty,  if  you  like — I  am  too  happy — really,  Mr.  Fir 
kins " 

"  It's  on  the  fifteenth ;  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  seeing  your 
ladyship  there  !  Good-morning!  Home,  coachman  !" 

"  Does  this  man  love  me  ?"  was  Lady  Ravelgold's  first  thought, 
as  she  sank  back  in  her  returning  chariot.  "  Yet  no  !  he  was 


114  WHAT  WAS  TO  BE  THE  EQUIVALENT  7 


even  rude  in  his  haste  to  be  rid  of  me.  And  I  would  willingly 
have  stayed  too,  for  there  is  something  about  him  of  a  mark  that 
I  like.  Ay,  and  he  must  have  seen  it — a  lighter  encouragement 
has  been  interpreted  more  readily.  Five  hundred  pounds ! — 
really  five  hundred  pounds !  And  thirty  thousand  at  the  back  of 
it !  What  does  he  mean  ?  Heavens  !  if  he  should  be  deeper 
than  I  thought !  If  he  should  wish  to  involve  me  first !" 

And  spite  of  the  horror  with  which  the  thought  was  met  in  the 
mind  of  Lady  Ravelgold,  the  blush  over  her  forehead  died  away 
into  a  half  smile  and  a  brighter  tint  in  her  lips  ;  and,  as  the  car 
riage  wound  slowly  on  through  the  confused  press  of  Fleet  street 
and  the  Strand,  the  image  of  the  handsome  and  haughty  young 
banker  shut  her  eyes  from  all  sounds  without,  and  she  was  at  her 
own  door  in  Grosvenor  square  before  she  had  changed  position, 
or  wandered  half  a  moment  from  the  subject  of  those  busy 
dreams. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  morning  of  the  fifteenth  of  May  seemed  to  have  been  ap 
pointed  by  all  the  flowers  as  a  jubilee  of  perfume  and  bloom. 
The  birds  had  been  invited,  and  sang  in  the  summer  with  a  wel 
come  as  full-throated  as  a  prima  donna  singing  down  the  tenor  in 
a  duet ;  the  most  laggard  buds  turned  out  their  hearts  to  the  sun 
shine,  and  promised  leaves  on  the  morrow ;  and  that  portion  of 
London  that  had  been  invited  to  Lady  Roseberry's  fete,  thought 
it  a  very  fine  day  !  That  portion  which  was  not,  wondered  how 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  H5 

people  would  go  sweltering  about  in  such  a  glare  for  a  cold 
dinner  ! 

At  about  half  past  two,  a  very  elegant  dark-green  cab  without 
a  crest,  and  with  a  servant  in  whose  slight  figure  and  plain  blue 
livery  there  was  not  a  fault,  whirled  out  at  the  gate  of  the 
Regent's  Park,  and  took  its  way  up  the  well-watered  road  leading 
to  Hampstead.  The  gentlemen  whom  it  passed  or  met  turned  to 
admire  the  performance  of  the  dark-grey  horse,  and  the  ladies 
looked  after  the  cab  as  if  they  could  see  the  handsome  occupant 
once  more  through  its  leather  back.  Whether  by  conspiracy 
among  the  coach-makers,  or  by  an  aristocracy  of  taste,  the 
degree  of  elegance,  in  a  turn-out  attained  by  the  cab  just  de 
scribed,  is  usually  confined  to  the  acquaintances  of  Lady ; 

that  list  being  understood  to  enumerate  all  "  the  nice  young 
men"  of  the  West  End,  beside  the  guardsmen.  (The  ton  of  the 
latter,  in  all  matters  that  affect  the  style  of  the  regiment,  is 
looked  after  by  the  cl Lib  and  the  colonel.)  The  junior  Firkins 
seemed  an  exception  to  this  exclusive  rule.  No  "  nice  man" 
could  come  from  Lothbury,  and  he  did  not  visit  Lady  — ^- ;  but 
Iris  horse  was  faultless,  and  when  he  turned  into  the  gate  of  Rose- 
Eden,  the  policeman  at  the  porter's  lodge,  though  he  did  not 
know  him,  thought  it  unnecessary  to  ask  for  his  name.  Away  he 
spattered  up  the  hilly  avenue,  and,  giving  the  reins  to  his  groom 
at  the  end  of  a  green  arbor  leading  to  the  reception-lawn,  he 
walked  in  and  made  his  bow  to  Lady  Roseberry,  who  remarked, 
u  How  very  handsome  !  Who  can  he  be  r" — and  the  junior 
partner  walked  on  and  disappeared  down  an  avenue  of  la 
burnums. 

Ah  !  but  Rose-Eden  looked  a  Paradise  that  day  !  Hundreds 
had  passed  across  the  close-shaven  lawn,  with  a  bow  to  the  lady- 


116  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  F^TE. 

mistress  of  this  fair  abode.  Yet  the  grounds  were  still  private 
enough  for  Milton's  pair,  so  lost  were  they  in  the  green  labyrinths 
of  hill  and  dale.  Some  had  descended  through  heavily-shaded 
paths  to  a  fancy-dairy,  built  over  a  fountain  in  the  bottom  of  a 
cool  dell ;  and  here,  amid  her  milk-pans  of  old  and  costly  china, 
the  prettiest  maid  in  the  country  round  pattered  about  upon  a 
floor  of  Dutch  tiles,  and  served  her  visitors  with  creams  and  ices 
— already,  as  it  were,  adapted  to  fashionable  comprehension. 
Some  had  strayed  to  the  ornamental  cottages  in  the  skirts  of  the 
flower-garden — poetical  abodes,  built  from  a  picturesque  drawing, 
with  imitation  roughness ;  thatch,  lattice-window,  and  low  paling, 
all  complete,  and  inhabited  by  superannuated  dependents  of  Lord 
Roseberry,  whose  only  duties  were  to  look  like  patriarchs,  and 
give  tea  and  new  cream-cheese  to  visitors  on  fete-days.  Some 
had  gone  to  see  the  silver  and  gold  pheasants  in  their  wire- 
houses,  stately  aristocrats  of  the  game  tribe,  who  carry  their 
finely-pencilled  feathers  like  "  Marmalet  Madams,"  strutting  in 
hoop  and  farthingale.  Some  had  gone  to  the  kennels,  to  see 
setters  and  pointers,  hounds  and  terriers,  lodged  like  gentlemen, 
each  breed  in  its  own  apartment — the  puppies,  as  elsewhere, 
treated  with  most  attention.  Some  were  in  the  flower-garden, 
some  in  the  green-houses,  some  in  the  graperies,  aviaries,  and 
grottoes ;  and,  at  the  side  of  a  bright  sparkling  fountain,  in  the 
recesses  of  a  fir-grove,  with  her  foot  upon  its  marble  lip,  and  one 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  a  small  Cupid  who  archly  made  a 
drinking-cup  of  his  wing,  and  caught  the  bright  water  as  it  fell, 
stood  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  the  loveliest  girl  of  nineteen  that 
prayed  night  and  morning  within  the  parish  of  May  Fair,  listen 
ing  to  very  passionate  language  from  the  young  banker  of 
Lothbury. 


LADY  RAVELGOLD. 


A  bugle  on  the  lawn  rang  a  recall.  From  every  alley,  and  by 
every  path,  poured  in  the  gay  multitude,  and  the  smooth  sward 
looked  like  a  plateau  of  animated  flowers,  waked  by  magic  from  a 
broidery  on  green  velvet.  Ah  !  the  beautiful  demi-toilettes  ! — so 
difficult  to  attain,  yet,  when  attained,  the  dress  most  modest, 
most  captivating,  most  worthy  the  divine  grace  of  woman.  Those 
airy  hats,  sheltering  from  the  sun,  yet  not  enviously  concealing  a 
feature  or  a  ringlet  that  a  painter  would  draw  for  his  exhibition- 
picture  !  Those  summery  and  shapeless  robes,  covering  the 
person  more  to  show  its  outline  better,  and  provoke  more  the 
worship,  which,  like  all  worship,  is  made  more  adoring  by  mys- 

'tery!  Those  complexions  which  but  betray  their  transparency 
in  the  sun  ;  lips  in  which  the  blood  is  translucent  when  between 
you  and  the  light ;  cheeks  finer-grained  than  alabaster,  yet  as  cool 
in  their  virgin  purity  as  a  tint  in  the  dark  corner  of  a  Ruysdel : 
the  human  race  was  at  less  perfection  in  Athens  in  the  days  of 
Lais — in  Egypt  in  the  days  of  Cleopatra — than  that  day  on  the 
lawn  of  Rose-Eden. 

Cart-loads  of  ribands,  of  every  gay  color,  had  been  laced 
through  the  trees  in  all  directions ;  and  amid  every  variety  of 
foliage,  and  every  shade  of  green,  the  tulip-tints  shone  vivid  and 

^brilliant,  like  an  American  forest  after  the  first  frost.  From  the 
left  edge  of  the  lawn,  the  ground  suddenly  sunk  into  a  dell,  shaped 

I  like  an  amphitheatre,  with  a  level  platform  at  its  bottom,  and  all 
around,  above  and  below,  thickened  a  shady  wood.  The  music  of 

j  a  delicious  band  stole  up  from  the  recesses  of  a  grove,  draped  in 
an  orchestra  and  green-room  on  the  lower  side,  and,  while  the 

1  audience  disposed  themselves  in  the  shade  of  the  upper  grove,  a 
company  of  players  and  dancing-girls  commenced  their  theatricals. 
Imogen  Ravelgold,  who  was  separated,  by  a  pine  tree  only, 


118  A   FALCON  FLIGHT. 


from   the  junior  partner,  could  scarce   tell  you,   when  it  was 
finished,  what  was  the  plot  of  the  play. 

The  recall-bugle  sounded  again,  and  the  band   wound   away 
from  the  lawn,  playing  a  gay  march.     Followed  Lady  Roseberry 
and  her  suite  of  gentlemen,  followed  dames  and  their  daughters, 
followed  all  who  wished  to  see  the  flight  of  my  lord's  falcons.     By 
a  narrow  path    and  a  wicket-gate,  the  long  music-guided  train  ! 
stole  out  upon  an  open  hill-side,  looking  down  on  a  verdant  and 
spreading  meadow.     The  band  played  at  a  short  distance  behind 
the  gay  groups  of  spectators,  and  it  was  a  pretty  picture  to  look  j 
down  upon  the  splendidly-dressed  falconer  and  his  men,  holding  ! 
their  fierce  birds  upon  their  wrists,  in  their  hoods  and  jesses,  a  j 
foreground  of  old  chivalry  and  romance  ;  while  far  beyond  ex 
tended,  like  a  sea  over  the  horizon,  the  smoke-clad  pinnacles  of 
busy  and  every-day  London.     There  are  such  contrasts  for  the 
rich ! 

The  scarlet  hood  was  taken  from  the  trustiest  falcon,  and  a  dove, 
confined,  at  first,  with  a  string,  was  thrown  up  and  brought  back  to 
excite  his  attention.  As  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him,  the  frightened 
victim  was  let  loose,  and  the  falcon  flung  off;  away  skimmed  the 
dove  in  a  low  flight  over  the  meadow,  and  up  to  the  very  zenith 
in  circles  of  amazing  swiftness  and  power,  sped  the  exulting  falcon, 
apparently  forgetful  of  his  prey,  and  bound  for  the  eye  of  the  sun 
with  his  strong  wings  and  his  liberty.  The  falconer's  whistle 
and  cry  were  heard;  the  dove  circled  round  the  edge  of  the  mea-| 
dow  in  his  wavy  flight;  and  down,  with  the  speed  of  lightning,! 
shot  the  falcon,  striking  his  prey  dead  to  the  earth  before  the 
eye  could  settle  on  his  form.  As  the  proud  bird  stood  upon- 
his  victim,  looking  around  with  a  lifted  crest  and  fierce  eye,  Lady: 
Imogen  Ravelgold  heard,  in  a  voice  of  which  her  heart  knew 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  U9 

he  music,  u  They  who  soar  highest  strike  surest ;  the  dove  lies 
i  the  falcon's  bosom." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  afternoon  had,  meantime,  been  wearing  on,  and  at  six  the 
i breakfast"  was  announced.  The  tents  beneath  which  the 
ables  were  spread  were  in  different  parts  of  the  grounds,  and  the 
quests  had  made  up  their  own  parties.  Each  sped  to  his  rendez 
vous,  and,- as  the  last  loiterers  disappeared  from  the  lawn,  a  gentle 
man  in  a  claret  coat,  and  a  brown  study,  found  himself  stopping 
to  let  a  lady  pass  who  was  obeying  the  summons  as  tardily  as 
himself.  In  a  white  chip  hat,  Hairbault's  last,  a  few  lilies  of  the 
valley  laid  among  the  raven  curls  beneath,  a  simple  white  robe, 
the  chef-cPceuvrc  of  Victorine  in  style  and  tournure.  Lady  Ravel- 
gold  would  have  been  the  belle  of  the  fete,  but  for  her  daughter. 

"  Well  emerged  from  Lothbury  !"  she  said,  courtseying,  with 
a  slight  flush  over  her  features,  but  immediately  taking  his  arm  ; 
"  I  have  lost  my  party,  and  meeting  you  is  opportune.  Where 
shall  we  breakfast  ?" 

There  was  a  small  tent  standing  invitingly  open,  on  the  oppo- 
,side  of  the  lawn,  and,  by  the  fainter  rattle  of  soup-spoons  from 
that  quarter,  it  promised  to  be  less  crowded  than  the  others.  The 
junior  partner  would  willingly  have  declined  the  proffered  honor, 
but  he  saw  at  glance  that  there  was  no  escape,  and  submitted 
with  a  grace. 

'  You  know  very  few  people  here,"  said  his  fair  creditor, 
taking  the  bread  from  her  napkin. 


120  APPROACHING  A  SEC11ET. 

"  Your  ladyship  and  one  other." 

"  Ah,  we  shall  have  dancing  by-and-by,  and  I  must  introduce 
you  to  my  daughter.  By  the  way,  have  you  no  name  from  youi 
mother's  side  ?  '  Firkins'  sounds  so  very  odd.  Give  me  some 
prettier  word  to  drink  in  this  champagne." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Tremlet  ?" 

"  Too  effeminate  for  your  severe  style  of  beauty — but  it  wil 
do.  Mr.  Tremlet,  your  health  !  Will  you  give  me  a  little  of  th< 
pate  before  you  ?  Pray,  if  it  is  not  indiscreet,  how  comes  tha 
classic  profile,  and,  more  surprising  still,  that  distinguished  lool 
of  yours,  to  have  found  no  gayer  destiny  than  the  signing  o 
4  Firkins  and  Co.'  to  notes  of  hand?  Though  I  thought  yoi 
became  your  den  in  Lothbury,  upon  my  honor  you  look  more  a 
home  here." 

And  Lady  Ravelgold  fixed  her  superb  eyes  upon  the  beautifi 
features  of  her  companion,  wondering  partly  why  he  did  nc 
speak,  and  partly  why  she  had  not  observed  before  that  he  wa 
incomparibly  the  handsomest  creature  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  I  can  regret  no  vocation,"  he  answered  after  a  momeni , 
u  which  procures  me  an  acquaintance  with  your  ladyship  • 
family." 

u  There  is  an  arriere  pensee  in  that  formal  speech,  Mr.  Tren  • 
let  You  are  insincere.  I  am  the  only  one  in  my  family  who]  i 
you  know,  and  what  pleasure  have  you  taken  in  my  acquain  » 
ance  ?  And,  now  I  think  of  it,  there  is  a  mystery  about  yoi  .* 
which,  but  for  the  noble  truth  written  so  legibly  on  your  feature  I 
I  should  be  afraid  to  fathom.  Why  have  you  suffered  me  c, 
over-draw  my  credit  so  enormously,  and  without  a  shadow  of  i 
protest  ?" 

When  Lady  Ravelgold  had  disburdened  her  heart  of  this  dire  ; 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  12 1 

question,  she  turned  half  round  and  looked  her  companion  in  the 
face,  with  an  intense  interest  which  produced  amid  her  own  fea 
tures  an  expression  of  earnestness  very  uncommon  upon  their  pale 
and  impassive  lines.  She  was  one  of  those  persons  of  little 
thought,  who  care  nothing  for  causes  or  consequences,  so  that  the 
present  difficulty  is  removed,  or  the  present  hour  provided  with 
its  wings  ;  but  the  repeated  relief  she  had  received  from  the 
young  banker,  when  total  ruin  would  have  been  the  consequence 
}f  his  refusal,  and  his  marked  coldness  in  his  manner  to  her,  had 
stimulated  the  utmost  curiosity  of  which  she  was  capable.  Her 
ranity,  founded  upon  her  high  rank  and  great  renown  as  a  beauty, 
would  have  agreed  that  he  might  be  willing  to  get  her  into  his 
power  at  that  price,  had  he  been  less  agreeable  in  his  own  person, 
or  more  eager  in  his  manner.  But  she  had  wanted  money  suf- 
(  ficiently  to  know,  that  thirty  thousand  pounds  are  not  a  bagatelle, 
and  her  brain  was  busy  till  she  discovered  the  equivalent  he 
sought  for  it.  Meantime  her  fear  that  he  would  turn  out  to  be  a 
lover,  grew  rapidly  into  a  fear  that  he  would  not. 

Lady  Ravelgold  had  been  the  wife  of  a  dissolute  Earl,  who  had 
died,  leaving  his  estate  inextricably  involved.  With  no  male 
heir  to  the  title  or  property,  and  no  very  near  relation,  the  beau 
tiful  widow  shut  her  eyes  to  the  difficulties  by  which  she  was 
surrounded,  and,  at  the  first  decent  moment  after  the  death  of  her 
lord,  she  had  re-entered  the  gay  society  of  which  she  had  been  the 
'bright  and  particular  star,  and  never  dreamed  either  of  diminishing 
her  establishment,  or  calculating  her  possible  income.  The  first 
iheavy  draft  she  had  made  upon  the  house  of  Firkins  and  Co.,  her 
husband's  bankers,  had  been  returned  with  a  statement  of  the 
Ravelgold  debt  and  credit  on  their  books,  by  which  it  appeared 
ma<  T..-.-'l  Ravelgold  had  overdrawn  four  or  five  thousand  pounds 


122  LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT. 

before  his  death,  and  that,  from  some  legal  difficulties,  nothing 
could  bo  realized  from  the  securities  given  on  his  estates.  This 
bad  news  arrived  on  the  morning  of  a  fete  to  be  given  by  the 
Russian  ambassador,  at  which  her  only  child,  Lady  Imogen,  was 
to  make  her  debut  in  society.  With  the  facility  of  disposition 
which  was  peculiar  to  her,  Lady  Ravelgold  thrust  the  papers  into 
her  drawer,  and,  determining  to  visit  her  banker  on  the  following 
morning,  threw  the  matter  entirely  from  her  mind  and  made  pre 
parations  for  the  ball.  With  the  Russian  government  the  house 
of  Firkins  and  Co.  had  long  carried  on  very  extensive  fiscal  trans 
actions,  and,  in  obedience  to  instructions  from  the  Emperor,  regular 
invitations  for  the  embassy  fetes  were  sent  to  the  bankers,  ac 
cepted  occasionally  by  the  junior  partner  only,  who  was  generally 
supposed  to  be  a  natural  son  of  old  Firkins.  Out  of  the  banking- 
house  he  was  known  as  Mr.  Tremlct,  and  it  was  by  this  name, 
which  was  presumed  to  be  his  mother's,  that  he  was  casually 
introduced  to  Lady  Imogen  on  the  night  of  the  fete,  while  she 
was  separated  from  her  mother  in  the  dancing-room.  The  conse 
quence  was  a  sudden,  deep,  ineffaceable  passion  in  the  bosom  of 
the  young  banker,  checked  and  silenced,  but  never  lessened  or 
chilled  by  the  recollection  of  the  obstacle  of  his  birth.  The  im 
pression  of  his  subdued  manner,  his  worshipping,  yet  most  respect 
ful  tones,  and  the  bright  soul  that  breathed  through  his  handsome 
features  with  his  unusual  excitement,  was,  to  say  the  least,  favor 
able  upon  Lady  Imogen,  and  they  parted  on  the  night  of  the  fete, 
mutually  aware  of  each  other's  preference. 

On  the  following  morning  Lady  Ravelgold  made  her  promised 
visit  to  the  city,  and,  inquiring  for  Mr.  Firkins,  was  shown  in  as 
usual  to  the  junior  partner,  to  whom  the  colloquial  business  of  the 
concern  had  long  been  intrusted.  To  her  surprise  she  found 


LADY  RAVELGOLD. 


123 


difficulty  in  obtaining  the  sum  of  money  which  had  been  refused 
her  on  the  preceding  day— a  result  which  she  attributed  to  her 
powers  of  persuasion,  or  to  some  new  turn  in  the  affairs  of  the 
j  estate  ;  and  for  two  years  these  visits  had  been  repeated,  at  inter 
vals  of  three  or  four  months,  with  the  same  success,  though  not 
with  the  same  delusion  as  to  the  cause.  She  had  discovered  that 
the  estate  was  worse  than  nothing,  and  the  junior  partner  cared 
little  to  prolong  his  tetc-a-tetes  with  her,  and,  up  to  the  visit  with 
which  this  tale  opened,  she  had  looked  to  every  succeeding  one 
with  increased  fear  and  doubt. 

During  these  two  years,  Trcmlet  had  seen  Lady  Imogen  occa 
sionally  at  balls  and  public  places,  and  every  look  they  exchanged 
wove  more  strongly  between  them  the  subtle  threads  of  love. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  endeavored  to  interest  her  mother  in  con- 
i  vcrsation  on  the  subject,  with  the  intention  of  making  a  confidence 
of  her  feelings;  but  Lady  Ravelgold,  when  not  anxious,  was 
giddy  with  her  own  success,  and  the  unfamiliar  name  never  rested 
a  moment  on  her  ear.  With  this  explanation  to  render  the  tale 
intelligible,  "  let  us,"  as  the  French  say,  "  return  to  our 
muttons." 

Of  the  conversation  between  Tremlet  and  her  mother,  Lady 
Imogen  was  an  unobserved  and  astonished  witness.  The  tent 
which  they  had  entered  was  large,  with  a  liiffet  in  the  centre,  and 
a  circular  table  waited  on  by  servants  within  the  ring ;  and,  just 
concealed  by  the  drapery  around  the  pole,  sat  Lady  Imogen  with 
a  party  of  her  friends,  discussing  very  seriously  the  threatened 
fashion  of  tight  sleeves.  She  had  half  risen,  when  her  mother 
entered,  to  offer  her  a  seat  by  her  side,  but  the  sight  of  Tremlet, 
who  immediately  followed,  had  checked  the  words  upon  her  lip, 
and,  to  her  surprise,  they  seated  themselves  on  the  side  that  was 


124  A  LADY'S  FAVOR. 

wholly  unoccupied,  and  conversed  in  a  tone  inaudible  to  all  but 
themselves.  Not  aware  that  her  lover  knew  Lady  Ravelgold,  she 
supposed  that  they  might  have  been  casually  introduced,  till  the 
earnestness  of  her  mother's  manner,  and  a  certain  ease  between 
them  in  the  little  courtesies  of  the  table,  assured  her  that  this 
could  not  be  their  first  interview.  Tremlet's  face  was  turned 
from  her,  and  she  could  not  judge  whether  he  was  equally 
interested;  but  she  had  been  so  accustomed  to  consider  her 
mother  as  irresistible  when  she  chose  to  please,  that  she  supposed 
it,  of  course  ;  and  very  soon  the  heightened  color  of  Lady  Ravel- 
gold,  and  the  unwavering  look  of  mingled  admiration  and 
curiosity  which  she  bent  upon  the  handsome  face  of  her  com 
panion,  left  no  doubt  in  her  mind  that  her  reserved  and  exclusive 
lover  was  in  the  dangerous  toils  of  a  rival  whose  power  she  knew. 
From  the  mortal  pangs  of  a  first  jealousy,  Heaven  send  thec 
deliverance,  fair  Lady  Imogen  ! 

"  We  shall  find  our  account  in  the  advances  on  your  ladyship's 
credit ;  said  Tremlet,  in  reply  to  the  direct  question  that  was  put 
to  him.  "  Meantime  permit  me  to  admire  the  courage  with 
which  you  look  so  disagreeable  a  subject  in  the  face." 

"  For  '  disagreeable  subject,'  read  l  Mr.  Tremlet.'  I  show  my 
temerity  more  in  that.  Apropos  of  faces,  yours  would  become 
the  new  fashion  of  cravat.  The  men  at  Crockford's  slip  the  ends 
through  a  ring  of  their  lady-love's,  if  they  chance  to  have  one — 
thus  !  "  and  untying  the  loose  knot  of  his  black  satin  cravat,  Lady 
Ravelgold  slipped  over  the  ends  a  diamond  of  small  value,  con 
spicuously  set  in  pearls. 

"  The  men  at  Crockford's,"  said  Tremlet,  hesitating  to  com 
mit  the  rudeness  of  removing  the  ring,  u  are  not  of  my  school  of 


LADY  RAVELGOLD. 


125 


manners.     If  I  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  inspire  a  lady  with  a 
preference  for  me,  I  should  not  advertise  it  on  my  cravat." 

"  But  suppose  the  lady  were  proud  of  her  preference,  as 
dames  were  of  the  devotion  of  their  knights  in  the  days  of 
chivalry— would  you  not  wear  her  favor  as  conspicuously  as 
they  r" 

A  flush  of  mingled  embarrassment  and  surprise  shot  over  the 
forehead  of  Tremlet,  and  he  was  turning  the  ring  with  his  fingers, 
when  Lady  Imogen,  attempting  to  pass  out  of  the  tent,  was 
stopped  by  her  mother. 

"  Imogen,  my  daughter  !  this  is  Mr.  Tremlet,  Lady  Imogen 
Ravelgold,  Mr.  Tremlet!" 

The  cold  and  scarce  perceptible  bow  which  the  wounded  girl 
gave  to  her  lover  betrayed  no  previous  acquaintance  to  the 
careless  Lady  Ravelgold.  Without  giving  a  second  thought  to 
her  daughter,  she  held  her  glass  for  some  champagne  to  a  passing 
servant,  and,  as  Lady  Imogen  and  her  friends  crossed  the  lawn  to 
the  dancing-tent,  she  resumed  the  conversation  which  they  had 
interrupted;  while  Tremlet,  with  his  heart  brooding  on  the 
altered  look  he  had  received,  listened  and  replied  almost  uncon 
sciously  ;  yet,  from  this  very  circumstance,  in  a  manner  which  was 
interpreted  by  his  companion  as  the  embarrassment  of  a  timid 
and  long-repressed  passion  for  herself. 

While  Lady  Ravelgold  and  the  junior  partner  were  thus  play 
ing  at  cross  purposes  over  their  champagne  and  bons-bons,  Grisi 
and  Lablache  were  singing  a  duet  from  /  Puritani,  to  a  full 
audience  in  the  saloon  ;  the  drinking  young  men  sat  over  their 
wine  at  the  nearly-deserted  tables ;  Lady  Imogen  and  her  friends 
waltzed  to  Collinet's  band,  and  the  artizans  were  busy  below  the 
lawn,  erecting  the  machinery  for  the  fireworks.  Meantime  every 


126 


FIRE  WORKS. 


alley  and  avenue,  grot  and  labyrinth,  had  been  dimly  illuminated 
with  colored  lamps,  showing  like  vari-colored  glow-worms  amid 
the  foliage  and  shells  ;  and,  if  the  bright  scenery  of  Rose-Eden 
had  been  lovely  by  day,  it  was  fay-land  and  witchery  by  night. 
Fatal  impulse  of  our  nature,  that  these  approaches  to  Paradise  in 
the  "  daylight  of  the  eye,"  stir  only  in  our  bosoms  the  passions 
upon  which  law  and  holy  writ  have  put  ban  and  bridle  ! 

"  Shall  we  stroll  down  this  alley  of  crimson  lamps  ?"  said  Lady 
Ravegold,  crossing  the  lawn  from  the  tent  where  their  coffee  had 
been  brought  to  them,  and  putting  her  slender  arm  far  into  that 
of  her  now  pale  and  silent  companion. 

A  lady  in  a  white  dress  stood  at  the  entrance  of  that  crimson 
avenue,  as  Tremlet  and  his  passionate  admirer  disappeared 
beneath  the  closing  lines  of  the  long  perspective,  and,  remaining 
a  moment  gazing  through  the  unbroken  twinkle  of  the  confusing 
lamps,  she  pressed  her  hand  hard  upon  her  forehead,  drew  up  her 
form  AS  if  struggling  with  some  irrepressible  feeling,  and  in 
another  moment  was  whirling  in  the  waltz  with  Lord  Ernest 
Fitzantelope,  whose  mother  wrote  a  complimentary  paragraph 
about  their  performance  for  the  next  Saturday's  Court  Journal. 

The  bugle  sounded,  and  the  band  played  a  march  upon  the 
lawn.  From  the  breakfast  tents,  from  the  coifee-rooms,  from  the 
dance,  from  the  card-tables,  poured  all  who  wished  to  witness  the 
marvels  that  lie  in  saltpetre.  Gentlemen  who  stood  in  a  tender 
attitude  in  the  darkness,  held  themselves  ready  to  lean  the  other 
way  when  the  rockets  blazed  up,  and  mammas  who  were  encour 
aging  flirtations  with  eligibles,  whispered  a  caution  on  the  same 
.subject  to  their  less  experienced  daughters. 

Up  sped  the  missiles,  round  spun  the  wheels,  fair  burned  the 
pagodas,  swift  flew  the  fire-doves  off  and  back  again  on  their 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  137 


wires,  and  softly  floated  down  through  the  dewy  atmosphere  of 
that  May  night  the  lambent  and  many-colored  stars,  flung  burning 
from  the  exploded  rockets.  Device  followed  device,  and  Lady 
Imogen  almost  forgot,  in  her  child's  delight  at  the  spectacle,  that 
she  had  taken  into  her  bosom  a  green  serpent,  whose  folds  were 
closing  like  suffocation  about  her  heart. 

The  finale  was  to  consist  of  a  new  light,  invented  by  the  pyro 
technist,  promised  to  Lady  Roseberry  to  be  several  degrees 
brighter  than  the  sun — comparatively  with  the  quantity  of  mat 
ter.  Before  this  last  flourish  came  a  pause ;  and,  while  all  the 
world  were  murmuring  love  and  applause  around  her,  Lady  Imo 
gen,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  an  indefinite  point  in  the  darkness, 
took  advantage  of  the  cessation  of  light  to  feed  her  serpent  with 
thoughts  of  passionate  and  uncontrollable  pain.  A  French  at- 
tackey  Phillipiste  to  the  very  tips  of  his  mustache,  addressed  to  her 
ear,  meantime,  the  compliments  he  had  found  most  effective  in 
the  Ckaussee  &  Antin. 

The  light  burst  suddenly  from  a  hundred  blazing  points,  clear, 
dazzling,  intense — illuminating,  as  by  the  instantaneous  burst  of 
day,  the  farthest  corner  of  Rose-Eden.  And  Monsieur  Mange- 
poire,  with  a  French  contempt  for  English  fireworks,  took  advan 
tage  of  the  first  ray  to  look  into  Lady  Imogen's  eyes. 

"Mais  Miladi !"  was  his  immediate  exclamation,  after  fol 
lowing  their  direction  with  a  glance,  "  ce  n'est  qifun  tableau 
vivant,  cela  !  Help,  gentlemen  !  Elk,  s'evan'juit.  Some  salts  ! 
Misericorde  !  Mon  Dieu  !  Man  Dieu  /"  And  Lady  Imogen 
Ravelgold  was  carried  fainting  to  Lady  Roseberry's  chamber. 

In  a  small  opening  at  the  end  of  a  long  avenue  of  lilacs,  ex 
tended  from  the  lawn  in  the  direction  of  Lady  Imogen's  fixed  and 
unconscious  ga/e,  was  pvesonted,  by  the  unexpected  illumination, 


128  TICKETS  TO  ALMACK'S. 


the  tableau  vivant,  seen  by  her  ladyship  and  Monsieur  Mange- 
poire  at  the  same  instant — a  gentleman  drawn  up  to  his  fullest 
height,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  a  lady  kneeling  on  the  ground 
at  his  feet  with  her  arms  stretched  up  to  his  bosom. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A  LITTLE  after  two  o'clock  on  the  following  Wednesday, 
Treinlet's  cabriolet  stopped  near  the  perron  of  Willis's  rooms  in 
King  street,  and  while  he  sent  up  his  card  to  the  lady  patronesses 
for  his  ticket  to  that  night's  Almack's,  he  busied  himself  in  look 
ing  into  the  crowd  of  carriages  about  him,  and  reading  on  the 
faces  of  their  fair  occupants  the  hope  and  anxiety  to  which  they 
were  a  prey  till  John  the  footman  brought  them  tickets  or  despair. 
Drawn  up  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  stood  a  family-carriage 
of  the  old  style,  covered  with  half  the  arms  of  the  herald's  office, 
and  containing  a  fat  dowager  and  three  very  over-dressed  daugh 
ters.  Watching  them,  to  see  the  effect  of  their  application,  stood 
upon  the  sidewalk  three  or  four  young  men  from  the  neighboring 
club-house,  and  at  the  moment  Tremlet  was  observing  these  cir 
cumstances,  a  foreign  britscka,  containing  a  beautiful  woman,  of  a 
reputation  better  understood  than  expressed  in  the  conclave  above 
stairs,  flew  round  the  corner  of  St.  James's  street,  and  very  nearly 
drove  into  the  open  mouth  of  the  junior  partner's  cabriolet. 

"  I  will  bet  you  a  Ukraine  colt  against  this  fine  bay  of  yours," 
said  the  Russian  secretary  of  legation,  advancing  from  the  group 
of  dandies  to  Tremlet,  "that  miladi,  yonder,  with  all  the  best 
blood  of  England  in  her  own  and  her  daughters'  red  faces,  gets 
m  tickets  this  morning  " 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  199 


"  I'll  take  a  bet  upon  the  lady  who  has  nearly  extinguished 
me,  if  you  like,"  answered  Tremlet,  gazing  with  admiration  at 
the  calm,  delicate,  child-like  looking  creature,  who  sat  before  him 
in  the  britscka. 

"  No  !"  said  the  secretary,  "  for  Almack's  is  a  republic  of 
beauty,  and  she'll  be  voted  in  without  either  blood  or  virtue. 
Par  exemple,  Lady  Ravelgold's  voucher  is  good  here,  though  she 
does  study  tableaux  in  Lothbury — eh,  Tremlet  ?" 

Totally  unaware  of  the  unlucky  discovery  by  the  fireworks  at 
Lady  Roseberry's  fete,  Tremlet  colored  and  was  inclined  to  take 
the  insinuation  as  an  affront  ;  but  a  laugh  from  the  dandies  drew 
off  his  companion's  attention,  and  he  observed  the  dowager's  foot 
man  standing  at  her  coach  window  with  his  empty  hands  held  up 
in  most  expressive  negation,  while  the  three  young  ladies  within 
sat  aghast,  in  all  the  agonies  of  disappointed  hopes.  The  lum 
bering  carriage  got  into  motion — its  ineffective  blazonry  paled  by 
the  mortified  blush  of  its  occupants — and,  as  the  junior  partner 
drove  away,  philosophizing  on  the  arbitrary  opinions  and  unpro 
voked  insults  of  polite  society,  the  britscka  shot  by,  showing  him, 
as  he  leaned  forward,  a  lovely  woman  who  bent  on  him  the  most 
dangerous  eyes  in  London,  and  an  Almack's  ticket  lying  on  the 
unoccupied  cushion  beside  her. 


The  white  relievo  upon  the  pale  blue  wall  of  Almack's  showed 
i  every  crack  in  its  stucco  flowers,  and  the  faded  chaperons  who 
I  had  defects  of  a  similar  description  to  conceal,  took  warning  of  the 
(  walls,  and  retreated  to  the  friendlier  dimness  of  the  tea-room. 

Collinet  was  beginning  the  second  set  of  quadrilles,  and  among 
j  the  fairest  of  the  surpassingly  beautiful  women  who  were  moving 

to  his  heavenly  music,  was  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  the  lovelier 


130  ENGLISH  BEAUTY. 


to-night  for  the  first  heavy  sadness  that  had  ever  dimmed  the 
roses  in  her  cheek.  Her  lady-mother  divided  her  thoughts  be 
tween  what  this  could  mean,  and  whether  Mr.  Tremlet  would 
come  to  the  ball  ;  and  when,  presently  after,  in  the  dos-a-dos, 
she  forgot  to  look  at  her  daughter,  on  seeing  that  gentleman  enter, 
she  lost  a  very  good  opportunity  for  a  guess  at  the  cause  of  Lady 
Imogen's  paleness. 

To  the  pure  and  true  eye  that  appreciates  the  divinity  of  the 
form  after  which  woman  is  made,  it  would  have  been  a  glorious 
feast  to  have  seen  the  perfection  of  shape,  color,  motion,  and 
countenance,  shown  that  night  on  the  bright  floor  of  Almack's. 
For  the  young  and  beautiful  girls  whose  envied  destiny  is  to  com 
mence  their  woman's  history  in  this  exclusive  hall,  there  exists  aids 
to  beauty  known  to  no  other  class  or  nation.  Perpetual  vigilance 
over  every  limb  from  the  cradle  up  ;  physical  education  of  a  per 
fection,  discipline,  and  judgment,  pursued  only  at  great  expense 
and  under  great  responsibility  ;  moral  education  of  the  highest 
kind,  habitual  consciousness  of  rank,  exclusive  contact  with  ele 
gance  and  luxury,  and  a  freedom  of  intellectual  culture  which 
breathes  a  soul  through  the  face  before  passion  has  touched  it  with 
a  line  or  a  shade — these  are  some  of  the  circumstances  which  make 
Almack's  the  cynosure  of  the  world  for  adorable  and  radiant 
beauty. 

There  were  three  ladies  who  had  come  to  Almack's  with  a 
definite  object  that  night,  each  of  whom  was  destined  to  be  sur 
prised  and  foiled :  Lady  Ravelgold,  who  feared  that  she  had  been 
abrupt  with  the  inexperienced  banker,  but  trusted  to  find  him 
softened  by  a  day  or  two's  reflection  ;  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  the  lady  of 
the  britsyka,  who  had  ordered  supper  for  two  on  her  arrival  a< 
home  from  her  morning's  drive,  and  intended  to  have  the  com- 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  131 


mny  of  the  handsome  creature  she  had  nearly  run  over  in  King 
street ;  and  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  as  will  appear  iu  the 
sequel. 

Tremlet  stood  in  the  entrance  from  the  tea-room,  a  moment, 
gathering  courage  to  walk  alone  into  such  a  dazzling  scene,  and 
then,  having  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glossy  lines  of  Lady  Imogen's 
head  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  room,  he  was  advancing  toward 
her,  when  he  was  addressed  by  a  lady  who  leaned  against  one  of 
the  slender  columns  of  the  orchestra.  After  a  sweetly-phrased 
apology  for  having  nearly  knocked  out  his  brains  that  morning 
with  her  horses'  fore  feet,  Mrs.  St.  Leger  took  his  arm,  and 
walking  deliberately  two  or  three  times  up  and  down  the  room, 
took  possession,  at  last,  of  a  banquette  on  the  highest  range,  so  far 
from  any  other  person,  that  it  would  have  been  a  marked  rude 
ness  to  have  left  her  alone.  Tremlet  took  his  seat  by  her  with 
this  instinctive  feeling,  trusting  that  some  of  her  acquaintances 
would  soon  approach,  and  give  him  a  fair  excuse  to  leave  her ; 
but  he  soon  became  amused  with  her  piquant  style  of  conver 
sation,  and,  not  aware  of  being  observed,  fell  into  the  attitude  of 
a  pleased  and  earnest  listener. 

Lady  Ravelgold's  feelings  during  this  petit  entretien,  were  of  a 
very  positive  description.  She  had  an  instinctive  knowledge,  and 
consequently  a  jealous  dislike  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger's  character; 
and,  still  under  the  delusion  that  the  young  banker's  liberality 
was  prompted  by  a  secret  passion  for  herself,  she  saw  her  credit 
in  the  city  and  her  hold  upon  the  affections  of  Tremlet,  (for  whom 
she  had  really  conceived  a  violent  affection,)  melting  away  in 
every  smile  of  the  dangerous  woman  who  engrossed  him.  As  she 
looked  around  for  a  friend,  to  whose  ear  she  might  communicate 
some  of  the  suffocating  poison  in  her  own  heart,  Lady  Imogen 


132  JEALOUSY. 


returned  to  her  from  a  gallopade  ;  and,  like  a  second  dagger  into 
the  heart  of  the  pure-minded  girl,  went  this  second  proof  of  her 
lover's  corrupt  principle  and  conduct.  Unwilling  to  believe  even 
her  own  eyes,  on  the  night  of  Lady  Roseberry's  fete,  she  had  sum 
moned  resolution  on  the  road  home  to  ask  an  explanation  of  her 
mother.  Embarrassed  by  the  abrupt  question,  Lady  Ravelgold 
felt  obliged  to  make  a  partial  confidence  of  the  state  of  her  pecu 
niary  affairs ;  and,  to  clear  herself,  she  represented  Tremlet  as 
having  taken  advantage  of  her  obligations  to  him,  to  push  a  dis 
honorable  suit.  The  scene  disclosed  by  the  sudden  blaze  of  the 
fireworks  being  thus  simply  explained,  Lady  Imogen  determined 
at  once  to  give  up  Tremlet's  acquaintance  altogether  ;  a  resolu 
tion  which  his  open  flirtation  with  a  woman  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger's 
character  served  to  confirm.  She  had,  however,  one  errand  with 
him,  prompted  by  her  filial  feelings,  and  favored  by  an  accidental 
circumstance  which  will  appear. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  animal  magnetism  rv  asked  Mrs.  St. 
Leger,  "  for  by  the  fixedness  of  Lady  Ravelgold's  eyes  in  this 
quarter,  something  is  going  to  happen  to  one  of  us." 

The  next  moment  the  Russian  secretary  approached  and  took 
his  seat  by  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  and  with  diplomatic  address  contrived 
to  convey  to  Tremlet's  ear  that  Lady  Ravelgold  wished  to  speak 
with  him.  The  banker  rose,  but  the  quick  wit  of  his  com 
panion  comprehended  the  manoeuvre. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  how  it  is,"  she  said,  u  but  stay — you'll  sup  with 
me  to-night.  Promise  me — parole  d^honneur  /" 

"  Parole  /"  answered  Tremlet,  making  his  way  out  between 
the  seats,  half  pleased  and  half  embarrassed. 

"  As  for  you,  Monsieur  le  Secretaire, '  said  Mrs.   St.  Leger, 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  133 

1  you  have  forfeited  my  favor,  and  may  sup  elsewere.     How  dare 
y  iu  conspire  against  me  ?" 

While  the  Russian  was  making  his  peace,  Tremlet  crossed  over 
t  Lady  Ravelgold ;  but,  astonished  at  the  change  in  Lady 
I  logen,  he  soon  broke  in  abruptly  upon  her  mother's  conversa- 
t  m,  to  ask  her  to  dance.  She  accepted  his  hand  for  a  quad- 
r  lie ;  but  as  they  walked  down  the  room  in  search  of  a  vis-d-vis, 
si  e  complained  of  heat,  and  asked  timidly  if  he  would  take  her  to 
tl  e  tea-room. 

c<  Mr.  Tremlet,"  she  said,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  the  cup  of  tea 
which  he  had  given  her,  and  which  she  found  some  difficulty  in 
holding,  "  I  have  come  here  to-night  to  communicate  to  you 
some  important  information,  to  ask  a  favor,  and  to  break  off  an 
acquaintance  which  has  lasted  too  long." 

Lady  Imogen  stopped,  for  the  blood  had  fled  from  her  lips,  and 
she  was  compelled  to  ask  his  arm  for  a  support.  She  drew  her 
self  up  to  her  fullest  height  the  next  moment,  looked  at  Tremlet, 
who  stood  in  speechless  astonishment,  and  with  a  strong  effort, 
commenced  again  in  a  low,  firm  tone — 

"  I  have  been  acquainted  with  you  some  time,  sir,  and  have 
never  inquired,  nor  knew  more  than  your  name,  up  to  this  day. 
T  suffered  myself  to  be  pleased  too  blindly — " 

"  Dear  Lady  Imogen  !" 

"  Stay  a  moment,  sir  !  I  will  proceed  directly  to  my  business. 
I  received  this  morning  a  letter  from  the  senior  partner  of  a  mer 
cantile  house  in  the  city,  with  which  you  are  connected.  It  is 
,  written  on  the  supposition  that  I  have  some  interest  in  you,  and 
informs  me  that  you  are  not,  as  you  yourself  suppose,  the  son  of 
;the  gentleman  who  writes  the  letter. 


134  A  REVELATION. 


"  Madam !" 

"  That  gentleman,  sir,  as  you  know,  never  was  married.  He 
informs  me,  that,  in  the  course  of  many  financial  visits  to  St. 
Petersburgh,  he  formed  a  friendship  with  Count  Manteuffel,  then 
minister  of  finance  to  the  emperor,  whose  tragical  end,  in  conse 
quence  of  his  extensive  defalcations,  is  well  known.  In  brief,  sir, 
you  were  his  child,  and  were  taken  by  this  English  banker,  and 
carefully  educated  as  his  own,  in  happy  ignorance,  as  he  imagined, 
of  your  father's  misfortunes  and  mournful  death." 

Tremlet  leaned  against  the  wall,  unable  to  reply  to  this 
astounding  intelligence,  and  Lady  Imogen  went  on. 

"  Your  title  and  estates  have  been  restored  to  you  at  the 
request  of  your  kind  benefactor,  and  you  are  now  the  heir  to  a 
princely  fortune,  and  a  count  of  the  Russian  empire.  Here  is 
the  letter,  sir,  which  is  of  no  value  to  me  now.  Mr.  Tremlet ! 
one  word  more,  sir." 

Lady  Imogen  gasped  for  breath. 

"  In  return,  sir,  for  much  interest  given  you  heretofore — in 
return,  sir,  for  this  information — " 

"  Speak,  dear  Lady  Imogen  !" 

"  Spare  my  mother  !" 

"  Mrs.  St.  Leger's  carriage  stops  the  way !"  shouted  a  servant 
at  that  moment,  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  ;  and,  as  if  there  were  s 
spell  in  the  sound  to  nerve  her  resolution  anew,  Lady  Imogei 
Ravelgold  shook  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  bowed  coldly  to  Tremlet 
and  passed  out  into  the  dressing-room. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  servant,  approaching  the  amaze< 
banker,  "  Mrs.  St.  Leger  waits  for  you  in  her  carriage." 

"  Will  you  come  home  and  sup  with  us  ?"  said  Lady  Ravel 
gold  at  the  same  instant,  joining  him  in  the  tea-room. 


LADY  RAVELGOLD. 


135 


"  I  shall  be  only  too  happy,  Lady  Ravelgold. " 
The  bold  coachman  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger  continued  to  "  stop  the 
way,"  spite  of  policemen  and  infuriated  footmen,  for  some  fifteen 
minutes.  At  the  end  of  that  time  Mr.  Tremlet  appeared, 
handing  down  Lady  Ravelgold  and  her  daughter,  who  walked  to 
their  chariot,  which  was  a  few  steps  behind ;  and  very  much  to 
Mrs.  St.  Leger's  astonishment,  the  handsome  banker  sprang  past 
her  horses'  heads  a  minute  after,  jumped  into  his  cabriolet,  which 
stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  drove  after  the 
vanishing  chariot  as  if  his  life  depended  on  overtaking  it.  Still 
Mrs.  St.  Leger's  carriage  "stopped  the  way."  But,  in  a  few 
minutes  after,  the  same  footman  who  had  summoned  Tremlet  in 
vain,  returned  with  the  Russian  secretary,  doomed  in  blessed  un 
consciousness  to  play  the  pis  aller  at  her  tete-a-tete  supper  in 
Spring  Gardens. 


CHAPTER    V. 

IF  Lady  Ravelgold  showed  beautiful  by  the  uncompromising 
light  and  in  the  ornamental  hall  of  Almack's,  she  was  radiant  as 
she  came  through  the  mirror  door  of  her  own  love-contrived  and 
beauty-breathing  boudoir.  Tremlet  had  been  shown  into  this  re 
cess  of  luxury  and  elegance  on  his  arrival,  and  Lady  Ravelgold 
and  her  daughter,  who  preceded  her  by  a  minute  or  two,  had 
gone  to  their  chambers,  the  first  to  make  some  slight  changes  in 
her  toilet,  and  the  latter  (entirely  ignorant  of  her  lover's  presence 
in  the  house),  to  be  alone  with  a  heart  never  before  in  such  painful 
need  of  self-abandonment  and  solitude. 


136  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  BOUDOIR 


Tremlet  looked  about  him  in  the  enchanted  room  in  which  he 
found  himself  alone,  and,  spite  of  the  prepossessed  agitation  of  his 
feelings,  the  voluptuous  beauty  of  every  object  had  the  effect  to 
divert  and  tranquillize  him.  The  light  was  profuse,  but  it  came 
softened  through  the  thinnest  alabaster ;  and,  while  every  object 
in  the  room  was  distinctly  and  minutely  visible,  the  effect  of 
moonlight  was  not  more  soft  and  dreamy.  The  general  form  of 
the  boudoir  was  an  oval,  but,  within  the  pilasters  of  folded  silk 
with  their  cornices  of  gold,  lay  crypts  containing  copies,  ex 
quisitely  done  in  marble,  of  the  most  graceful  statues  of  antiquity, 
one  of  which  seemed,  by  the  curtain  drawn  quite  aside  and  a 
small  antique  lamp  burning  near  it,  to  be  the  divinity  of  the 
place — the  Greek  Antinous,  with  his  drooped  head  and  full, 
smooth  limbs,  the  most  passionate  and  life-like  representation  of 
voluptuous  beauty  that  intoxicates  the  slumberous  air  of  Italy. 
Opposite  this,  another  niche  contained  a  few  books,  whose  retreat 
ing  shelves  swung  on  a  secret  door,  and,  as  it  stood  half  open,  the 
nodding  head  of  a  snowy  magnolia  leaned  through,  as  if  pouring 
from  the  lips  of  its  broad  chalice  the*nringled  odors  of  the  unseen 
conservatory  it  betrayed.  The  first  sketch  in  crayons  of  a  por 
trait  of  Lady  Ravelgold  by  young  Lawrence,  stood  against  the 
wall,  with  the  frame  half  buried  in  a  satin  ottoman  ;  and,  as 
Tremlet  stood  before  it,  admiring  the  clear,  classic  outline  of  the 
head  and  bust,  and  wondering  in  what  chamber  of  his  brain  the 
gifted  artist  had  found  the  beautiful  drapery  in  which  he  had 
drawn  her,  the  dim  light  glanced  faintly  on  the  left,  and  the 
broad  mirror  by  which  he  had  entered  swung  again  on  its  silver 
hinges,  and  admitted  the  very  presentment  of  what  he  gazed  on. 
Lady  Ravelgold  had  removed  the  jewels  from  her  hair,  and  the 
robe  of  wrought  lace,  which  she  had  worn  that  night  over  a  bod- 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  137 


dice  of  white  satin  laced  loosely  below  the  bosom.  In  the  place 
of  this  she  had  thrown  upon  her  shoulders  a  flowing  wrapper  of 
purple  velvet,  made  open  after  the  Persian  fashion,  with  a  short 
and  large  sleeve,  and  embroidered  richly  with  gold  upon  the 
skirts.  Her  admirable  figure,  gracefully  defined  by  the  satin 
petticoat  and  boddice,  showed  against  the  gorgeous  purple  as  it 
flowed  back  in  her  advancing  motion,  with  a  relief  which  would 
have  waked  the  very  soul  of  Titian  ;  her  complexion  was  dazzling 
and  faultless  in  the  flattering  light  of  her  own  rooms  ;  and  there 
are  those  who  will  read  this  who  know  how  the  circumstances 
which  surround  a  woman — luxury,  elegance,  taste,  or  the  oppo 
site  of  these — enhance  or  dim,  beyond  help  or  calculation,  even 
the  highest  order  of  woman's  beauty. 

Lady  Ravelgold  held  a  bracelet  in  her  hand  as  she  came  in. 

"  In  my  own  house,"  she  said,  holding  the  glittering  jewel  to 
Tremlet,  "  I  have  a  fancy  for  the  style  antique.  Tasseline,  my 
maid,  has  gone  to  bed,  and  you  must  do  the  devoirs  of  a  knight, 
or  an  abigail,  and  loop  up  this  Tyrian  sleeve.  Stay — first  look 
at  the  model — that  small  statue  of  Cytheris,  yonder !  Not  the 
shoulder — for  you  are  to  swear  mine  is  prettier — but  the  clasp. 
Fasten  it  like  that.  So  !  Now  take  me  for  a  Grecian  nymph 
the  rest  of  the  evening." 

"  Lady  Ravelgold  !" 

"  Hermione  or  Aglae,  if  you  please  !  But  let  us  ring  for 
supper !" 

As  the  bell  sounded,  a  superb  South  American  trulian  darted  in 
from  the  conservatory,  and,  spreading  his  gorgeous  black  and  gold 
wings  a  moment  over  the  alabaster  shoulder  of  Lady  Ravelgold,  as 
if  he  took  a  pleasure  in  prolonging  the  first  touch  as  he  alighted, 
turned  his  large  liquid  eye  fiercely  on  Tremlet. 


138  CHANGE  OF  RELATION. 


"  Thus  it  is,"  said  Lady  Ravelgold,  "  we  forget  our  old 
favorites  in  our  new.  See  how  jealous  he  is  !" 

"  Supper  is  served,  miladi !"  said  a  servant  entering. 

"  A  hand  to  each,  then,  for  the  present,"  she  said,  putting  one 
into  Tremlet's,  and  holding  up  the  trulian  with  the  other.  "  He 
who  behaves  best  shall  drink  first  with  me." 

"  I  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon,"  said  Tremlet,  drawing  back, 
and  looking  at  the  servant,  who  immediately  left  the  room.  "  Let 
us  understand  each  other  !  Does  Lady  Imogen  sup  with  us  to 
night  ?" 

u  Lady  Imogen  has  retired,"  said  her  mother  in  some  surprise. 

"  Then,  madam,  will  you  be  seated  one  moment  and  listen  to 
me  ?" 

Lady  Ravelgold  sat  down  on  the  nearest  ottoman,  with  the  air 
of  a  person  too  high  bred  to  be  taken  by  surprise,  but  the  color 
deepened  to  crimson  in  the  centre  of  her  cheek,  and  the  bird  01 
her  hand  betrayed  by  one  of  his  gurgling  notes  that  he  was  hel( 
more  tightly  than  pleased  him.  With  a  calm  and  decisive  tone, 
Tremlet  went  through  the  explanation  given  in  the  previous  pari 
of  this  narration.  He  declared  his  love  for  Lady  Imogen,  hi? 
hopes  (while  he  had  doubts  of  his  birth)  that  Lady  Ravelgold'f 
increasing  obligations  and  embarrassments  and  his  own  wealtl 
might  weigh  against  his  disadvantages  ;  and  now,  his  honorabl* 
descent  being  established,  and  his  rank  entitling  him  to  pro] 
for  her  hand,  he  called  upon  Lady  Ravelgold  to  redeem  her  obli 
gations  to  him  by  an  immediate  explanation  to  her  daughter  oi 
his  conduct  toward  herself,  and  by  lending  her  whole  influence 
the  success  of  his  suit. 

Five  minutes  are  brief  time  to  change  a  lover  into  a  son-in- 
law  ;  and  Lady  Ravelgold,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  course  of  this 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  ]39 


toryr  was  no  philosopher.  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
nd  sat  silent,  for  a  while,  after  Tremlet  had  concluded  :  but  the 
•ase  was  a  very  clear  one.  Ruin  and  mortification  were  in  one 
;cale,  mortification  and  prosperity  in  the  other.  She  rose,  pale 
)ut  decided,  and  requesting  Monsieur  le  Comte  Manteuffel  to 
iwait  her  a  few  minutes,  ascended  to  her  daughter's  chamber. 

u  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  servant,  entering  in  about  half  an 
hour,  "  miladi  and  Lady  Imogen  beg  that  you  will  join  them  in 
the  supper-room." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  spirit  of  beauty,  if  it  haunt  in  such  artificial  atmospheres 
as  Belgrave  square,  might  have  been  pleased  to  sit  invisibly  on 
the  vacant  side  of  Lady  Ravelgold's  table.  Tremlet  had  been 
shown  in  by  the  servant  to  a  small  apartment,  built  like  a  belvi- 
dere  over  the  garden,  half  boudoir  in  its  character,  yet  intended 
as  a  supper-room,  and,  at  the  long  window  (opening  forth  upon 
descending  terraces  laden  with  flowers,  and  just  now  flooded  with 
the  light  of  a  glorious  moon)  stood  Lady  Imogen,  with  her  glossy 
head  laid  against  the  casement,  and  the  palni  of  her  left  hand 
pressed  close  upon  her  heart.  If  those  two  lights — the  moon 
faintly  shed  off  from  th-j  divine  curve  of  her  temple,  and  the 
stained  rose-lamp  pouring  its  mellow  tint  full  on  the  heavenly 
shape  and  whiteness  of  her  shoulder  and  neck — if  those  two 
lights,  I  say,  could  have  been  skilfully  managed,  Mr.  Lawrence  ! 
what  a  picture  you  might  have  made  of  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold  ! 

"  Imogen,  my  daughter  !  Mr.  Tremlet !"  said  her  mother  as 
he  entered. 


140  SUPPER   WITH  MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 


Without  changing  her  position,  she  gave  him  the  hand  she  had 
been  pressing  on  her  heart. 

"  Mr.  Tremlet !"  said  Lady  Ravelgold,  evidently  entering  into 
her  daughter's  embarrassment,  "  trouble  yourself  to  come  to  the 
table  and  give  me  a  bit  of  this  pheasant.  Imogen,  George  waits 
to  give  you  some  champagne." 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  r"  said  the  beautiful  girl,  before  turning 
to  betray  her  blushing  cheek  and  suffused  eyes  to  her  mother. 

Tremlet  stopped  as  if  to  pluck  a  leaf  from  the  verbena  at  her 
feet,  and  passed  his  lips  over  the  slight  fingers  he  held. 

"  Pretty  trulian  !"  murmured  Lady  Ravelgold  to  her  bird,  as 
he  stood  on  the  edge  of  her  champagne-glass,  and  curving  his 
superb  neck  nearly  double,  contrived  to  drink  from  the  sparkling 
brim — "  pretty  trulian  !  you  will  be  merry  after  this  !  What 
ancient  Sybarite,  think  you,  Mr.  Tremlet,  inhabits  the  body  of 
this  bright  bird  ?  Look  up,  migno-n,  and  tell  us  if  you  were 
Hylas  or  Alcibiades  !  Is  the  pheasant  good,  Mr.  Tremlet  ?" 

"  Too  good  to  come  from  Hades,  miladi.  Is  it  true  that  you 
have  your  table  supplied  from  Crockford's  ?" 

"  Tout  bonnement  I  I  make  it  a  principle  to  avoid  all  great 
anxieties,  and  I  can  trust  nobody  but  Tide.  He  sends  my  din 
ners  quite  hot,  and,  if  there  is  a  particular  dish  of  game,  he  drives 
round  at  the  hour  and  gives  it  the  last  turn  in  my  own  kitchen. 
I  should  die  to  be  responsible  for  my  dinners.  I  don't  know  how 
people  get  on  that  have  no  grand  artiste.  Pray,  Mr.  Tremlet 
(I  beg  pardon — Monsieur  le  Comte,  perhaps  I  should  say  ?") 

"  No,  no,  I  implore  you !  c  Tremlet'  has  been  spoken  too 
musically  to  be  so  soon  forgotten.  Tremlet  or  Charles,  which 
you  will!" 

Lady  Ravelgold  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  looked  from  his  face 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  141 


to  her  daughter's  with  a  smile,  which  assured  him  that  she  had 
obtained  a  victory  over  herself.  Shrinking  immediately,  how 
ever,  from  anything  like  sentiment  (with  the  nervous  dread  of 
pathos  so  peculiar  to  the  English),  she  threw  off  her  trulian,  that 
made  a  circle  and  alighted  on  the  emerald  bracelet  of  Lady  Imo 
gen,  and  rang  the  bell  for  coffee. 

"  I  natter  myself,  Mr.  Tremlet,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  made 
a  new  application  of  the  homoeopathic  philosophy.  Hahnemann, 
they  say,  cures  fevers  by  aggravating  the  disease  ;  and  when  I 
cannot  sleep,  I  drink  coffee.  J^en  suis  passablement  fiere  !  You 
did  not  know  I  was  a  philosopher  r" 

"No,  indeed!" 

"  Well,  take  some  of  this  spiced  mocha.  I  got  it  of  the 
Turkish  ambassador,  to  whom  I  made  beaux  yeux  on  purpose. 
Stop  !  you  shall  have  it  in  the  little  tinsel  cups  he  sent  me. 
George,  bring  those  filagree  things  !  Now,  Mr.  Tremlet,  imagine 
yourself  in  the  serail  du  Bosphore — Imogen  and  I  two  lovely  Cir 
cassians,  par  cxemple  !  Is  it  not  delicious  ?  Talking  of  Bospho- 
rus,  nobody  was  classical  enough  to  understand  the  device  in  my 
coiffure  to-night." 

"  What  was  it?"  asked  Tremlet,  absently,  gazing  while  ho 
spoke,  with  eyes  of  envy  at  the  trulian,  who  was  whetting  his  bill, 
backward  and  forward,  on  the  clear  bright  lips  of  Lady  Imogen. 

"  Do  you  think  my  profile  Grecian  r"  asked  Lady  Ravelgold. 

"  Perfectly  !" 

"  And  my  hair  is  coiffed  a  la  Grec  ?" 

"  Most  becomingly." 

"  But  still  you  won't  see  my  golden  grasshopper  !  Do  you 
happen  to  know,  sir,  that,  to  wear  the  golden  grasshopper,  was  the 
birthright  of  an  Athenian  ?  I  saw  it  in  a  book.  Well  !  I  had  to 


142  A  WOUND. 


explain  it  to  everybody.  By-the-way,  what  did  that  gambler, 
George  Heriot,  mean,  by  telling  me  that  its  legs  should  be  black  ? 
— *  All  Greeks  have  black  legs,'  said  he,  yawning  in  his  stupid 
way.  What  did  he  mean,  Mr.  Tremlet  ?" 

"  c  Greeks'  and  blacklegs  are  convertible  terms.  He  thought 
you  were  more  au  fait  of  the  slang  dictionary .  Will  you  permit 
me  to  coax  my  beautiful  rival  from  your  hand,  Lady  Imogen  ?" 

She  smiled,  and  put  forward  her  wrist,  with  a  bend  of  its  slen 
der  and  alabaster  lines  which  would  have  drawn  a  sigh  from 
Praxiteles.     The  trulian  glanced  his  fiery  eyes  from  his  mis 
tress's  face  to  Tremlet 's,  and,  as  the  strange  hand  was  put  out  to 
take  him  from  his  emerald  perch,  he  flew  with  the  quickness  of 
lightning  into  the  face  of  her  lover,  and  buried  the  sharp  beak  in 
his  lip.     The  blood  followed  copiously,  and  Lady  Imogen,  star 
tled  from  her  timidity,  sprang  from  her  chair  and  pressed  he 
hands  one  after  the  other  upon  the  wound,  in  passionate  and  girl 
ish   abandonment.      Lady   Ravelgold   hurried   to   her   dressing 
room  for  something  to  staunch  the   wound,  and,  left  alone  wit 
the  divine  creature  who  hung  over  him,  Tremlet  drew  her  t 
his  bosom  and  pressed  his  cheek  long  and  closely  to  hers,  while  t 
his  lips,  as  if  to  keep  in  life,  clung  her  own  crimsoned  and  trem 
bling  fingers. 

u  Imogen  !"  said  Lady  Ravelgold,  entering,  "  take  him  to  the 
fountain  in  the  garden  and  wash  the  wound  ;  then  put  on  this 
bit  of  gold-beater's  skin.  I  will  come  to  you  when  I  have  locked 
up  the  trulian.  Is  it  painful,  Mr.  Tremlet  ?" 

Tremlet  could  not  trust  his  voice  to  answer,  but,  with  his  am 
still  around  Lady  Imogen,  he  descended  by  the  terrace  of  flower 
to  the  fountain. 

They  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  marble  basin,  and  the  moonligh 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  143 

s  riking  through  the  jet  of  the  fountain,  descended  upon  them  like 
i  rain  of  silver.  Lady  Imogen  had  recovered  from  her  fright, 
i  id  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  remembering  into  what  her 
f  elings  had  betrayed  her  ;  and  Tremlet,  sometimes  listening  to 
t  Le  clear  bell-like  music  of  the  descending  water,  sometimes 
itering  the  broken  sentences  which  are  most  eloquent  in  love,  sat 
oit  the  hours  till  the  stars  began  to  pale,  undisturbed  by  Lady 
Kavelgold,  who,  on  the  upper  stair  of  the  terrace,  read  by  a  small 
lunp,  which,  in  the  calm  of  that  heavenly  summer  night,  burned 
unflickeringly  in  the  open  air. 


It  was  broad  daylight  when  Tremlet,  on  foot,  sauntered  slowly 
past  Hyde  park  corner  on  his  way  to  the  Albany.  The  lamps 
'were  still  struggling  with  the  brightening  approach  to  sunrise,  the 
cabmen  and  their  horses  slept  on  the  stand  by  the  Green  Park, 
and,  with  cheerful  faces,  the  laborers  went  to  their  work,  and  with 
haggard  faces  the  night-birds  of  dissipation  crept  wearily  home. 
The  well-ground  dust  lay  in  confused  heel-marks  on  the  sidewalk, 
a  little  dampened  by  the  night-dew  ;  the  atmosphere  in  the  street 
was  clear,  as  it  never  is  after  the  stir  of  day  commences  ;  a 
dandy,  stealing  out  from  Crockford's,  crossed  Piccadilly,  lifting 
up  his  head  to  draw  in  long  breaths  of  the  cool  air,  after  the  close- 
1  ness  of  over-lighted  rooms  and  excitement ;  and  Tremlet,  mark 
ing  none  of  these  things,  was  making  his  way  through  a  line  of 
:  carriages  slowly  drawing  up  to  take  off  their  wearied  masters 
| from  a  prolonged  fete  at  Devonshire  house,  when  a  rude  hand 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Monsieur  Tremlet  !" 

u  Ah,  Baron!  bien  bon  jour  /" 

"  Bien  rencontre.  Monsieur  !     \Tou  have  insulted  a  lady  to- 


144  A  QUARREL. 


night,  who  has  confided  her  cause  to  iny  hands.  Madam  St. 
Leger,  sir,  is  without  a  natural  protector,  and  you  have  taken 
advantage  of  her  position  to  insult  her — grossly,  Mr.  Tremlet, 
grossly  ! ' ' 

Tremlet  looked  at  the  Russian  during  this  extraordinary  ad 
dress,  and  saw  that  he  was  evidently  excited  with  wine.  He 
drew  him  aside  into  Berkeley  street,  and  in  the  calmest  manner 
attempted  to  explain  what  was  not  very  clear  to  himself.  He 
had  totally  forgotten  Mrs.  St.  Leger.  The  diplomat,  though 
quite  beyond  himself  with  his  excitement,  had  sufficient  percep 
tion  left  to  see  the  weak  point  of  his  statement ;  and,  infuriated 
with  the  placid  manner  in  which  he  attempted  to  excuse  himself, 
suddenly  struck  his  glove  into  his  face,  and  turned  upon  his  heel. 
They  had  been  observed  by  a  policeman,  and,  at  the  moment  that 
Tremlet,  recovering  from  his  astonishment,  sprang  forward  to 
resent  the  blow,  the  grey-coated  guardian  of  the  place  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  collar  and  detained  him  till  the  baron  had  disap 
peared. 

More  than  once,  on  his  way  to  the  Albany,  Tremlet  surprised 
himself  forgetting  both  the  baron  and  the  insult,  and  feeding  his 
heart  in  delicious  abandonment  with  the  dreams  of  his  new  happi 
ness.  He  reached  his  rooms  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed, 
forcing  from  his  mind,  with  a  strong  effort,  the  presence  of  Lady 
Imogen,  and  trying  to  look  calmly  on  the  unpleasant  circumstance 
before  him.  A  quarrel,  which,  the  day  before,  he  would  have 
looked  upon  merely  as  an  inconvenience,  or  which,  under  the  in 
sult  of  a  blow,  he  would  have  eagerly  sought,  became  now  an 
almost  insupportable  evil.  When  he  reflected  on  the  subject 
of  the  dispute — a  contention  about  a  woman  of  doubtful  reputa 
tion  taking  place  in  the  same  hour  with  a  first  avowal  from  the 


LADY  RAVELGOLD.  145 


lelicate  and  pure  Lady  Imogen — when  he  remembered  the  change 
u  his  fortunes,  which  he  had  as  yet  scarcely  found  time  to  realize 
— on  the  consequences  to  her  who  was  so  newly  dear  to  him,  and 
3n  all  he  might  lose,  now  that  life  had  become  invaluable — his 
thoughts  were  almost  too  painful  to  bear.  How  seldom  do  men 
play  with  an  equal  stake  in  the  game  of  taking  life,  and  how 
strange  it  is  that  equality  of  weapons  is  the  only  comparison  made 
necessary  by  the  laws  of  honor  ! 

Tremlet  was  not  long  the  man  to  be  undecided.  He  rose, 
after  an  hour's  reflection,  and  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  BARON  :  Before  taking  the  usual  notice  of  the  occurrence  of 
this  morning,  I  wish  to  rectify  one  or  two  points  in  which  our 
position  is  false.  I  find  myself,  since  last  night,  the  accepted 
lover  of  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  and  the  master  of  estates  and 
title  as  a  Count  of  the  Russian  empire.  Under  the  etourdissement 
of  such  sudden  changes  in  feelings  and  fortune,  perhaps  my  for- 
getf umess  of  the  lady,  in  whose  cause  you  arc  so  interested,  ad 
mits  of  indulgence.  At  any  rate,  I  am  so  newly  in  love  with 
life,  that  I  am  willing  to  suppose,  for  an  hour,  that  had  you  known 
these  circumstances,  you  would  have  taken  a  different  view  of  the 
offence  in  question.  I  shall  remain  at  home  till  two,  and  it  is  in 
your  power  till  then  to  make  me  the  reparation  necessary  to 
my  honor.  Yours,  etc., 

u  TREMLET." 

There  was  a  bridal  on  the  following  Monday  at  St.  George's 
church,  and  the  Russian  secretary  stood  behind  the  bridegroom. 
Lady  Ravelgold  had  never  been  seen  so  pale,  but  her  face  was 
clear  of  all  painful  feeling ;  and  it  was  observed  by  one  who  knew 


146  A  WEDDING  INSTEAD  OF  A  DUEL 


her  well,  that  her  beauty  had  acquired,  during  the  brief  engage 
ment  of  her  daughter,  a  singular  and  undefinable  elevation.  As 
the  carriages  with  their  white  favors  turned  into  Bond  street,  on 
their  way  back  to  Belgrave  square,  the  cortege  was  checked  by 
the  press  of  vehicles,  and  the  Russian,  who  accompanied  Lady 
Ravelgold  in  her  chariot,  found  himself  opposite  the  open  britsfka 
of  a  lady  who  fixed  her  glass  full  upon  him  without  recognising  a 
feature  of  his  face . 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  affronted  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  Baron  !"  said 
Lady  Ravelgold. 

"  Or  I  should  not  have  been  here  !"  said  the  Russian  ;  and,  as 
they  drove  up  Piccadilly,  he  had  just  time,  between  Bond  street 
and  Milton  Crescent,  to  tell  her  ladyship  the  foregone  chapter  of 
this  story. 

The  trulian,  on  that  day,  was  fed  with  wedding-cake,  and  the 
wound  on  Mr.  Tremlet's  lip  was  not  cured  by  letting  alone. 


KATE  CREDIFORD, 


I  FOUND  myself  looking  with  some  interest  at  the  back  of  a 
lady's  head.  The  theatre  was  crowded,  and  I  had  come  in  late, 
and  the  object  of  my  curiosity,  whoever  she  might  be,  was  listen 
ing  very  attentively  to  the  play.  She  did  not  move.  I  had  time 
to  build  a  life-time  romance  about  her  before  I  had  seen  a  feature 
of  her  face.  But  her  ears  were  small  and  of  an  exquisite  oval, 
and  she  had  that  rarest  beauty  of  woman — the  hair  arched  and 
joined  to  the  white  neck  with  the  same  finish  as  on  the  temples. 
Nature  often  slights  this  part  of  her  masterpiece. 

The  curtain  dropped,  and  I  stretched  eagerly  forward  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  her  profile.  But  no  !  she  sat  next  one  of  the  slen 
der  pilasters,  and,  with  her  head  leaned  against  it,  remained  im 
movable. 

I  left  the  box,  and  with  some  difficulty  made  my  way  into  the 
crowded  pit.  Elbowing,  apologizing,  persevering,  I  at  last 
gained  a  point  where  I  knew  I  could  see  my  incognita  at  the 
most  advantage.  I  turned — pshaw  ! — how  was  it  possible  I  had 
not  recognized  her  ? 

Kate  Crediford  ! 


14s  FIRST  SAD  LOOK. 

There  was  no  getting  out  again,  for  a  while  at  least,  without 
giving  offence  to  the  crowd  I  had  jostled  so  unceremoniously.  I 
sat  down — vexed — and  commenced  a  desperate  study  of  the 
figure  of  Shakspeare  on  the  drop-curtain. 

Of  course  I  had  been  a  lover  of  Miss  Crediford's,  or  I  could 
not  have  turned  with  indifference  from  the  handsomest  woman  in 
the  theatre.  She  was  very  beautiful — there  was  no  disputing. 
But  we  love  women  a  little  for  what  we  do  know  of  them,  and  a 
great  deal  more  for  what  we  do  not.  I  had  love-read  Kate  Cre- 
diford  to  the  last  leaf.  We  parted  as  easily  as  a  reader  and  a 
book.  Flirtation  is  a  circulating  library,  in  which  we  seldom  ask 
twice  for  the  same  volume,  and  I  gave  up  Kate  to  the  next 
reader,  feeling  no  property  even  in  the  marks  I  had  made  in  her 
perusal.  A  little  quarrel  sufficed  as  an  excuse  for  the  closing  of 
the  book,  and  both  of  us  studiously  avoided  a  reconciliation. 

As  I  sat  in  the  pit,  I  remembered  suddenly  a  mole  on  her  left 
cheek,  and  I  turned  toward  her  with  the  simple  curiosity  to  kno\f 
whether  it  was  visible  at  that  distance.     Kate  looked  sad.     She 
still  leaned  immovable  against  the  slight  column,  and  her  dari 
eyes,  it  struck  me,  were  moist.     Her  mouth,  with  this  peculiai 
expression  upon   her    countenance,  was  certainly   inexpressiblj 
sweet — the  turned-down  corners  ending  in  dimples,  which  in  that 
particular  place,  I  have  always  observed,  are  like  wells  of  ur 
fathomable  melancholy.     Poor  Kate  !  what  was  the  matter  wit 
her? 

As  I  turned '  back  to  my  dull  study  of  the  curtain,  a  little  pel 
tish  with  myself  for  the  interest  with  which  I  had  looked  at  a 
old  flame,  I  detected  half  a  sigh  under  my  white  waistcoat ;  bu 
instantly  persuading  myself  that  it  was  a  disposition  to  cough- 


KATE  CREDIFORD.  149 


oughed — and  began  to  hum  "  suoni  la  tromba."  The  curtain 
ose  and  the  play  went  on. 

It  was  odd  that  I  never  had  seen  Kate  in  that  humor  before. 

did  not  think  she  could  be  sad.     Kate  Crediford  sad  !     Why, 

he  was  the  most  volatile,  light-hearted,  care-for-nothing  coquette 

hat  ever  held  up  her  fingers  to  be  kissed.     I  wonder,  has  any 

i  ne  really  annoyed  you,  my  poor  Kate  !  thought  I.     Could  I,  by 

chance,  be  of  any  service  to  you — for,  after  all,  I  owe  you  sorne- 

ihing  !     I  looked  at"  her  again. 

Strange  that  I  had  ever  looked  at  that  face  without  emotion ! 
The  vigils  of  an  ever- wakeful,  ever-passionate,  yet  ever- tearful 
and  melancholy  spirit,  seemed  set,  and  kept  under  those  heavy 
and  motionless  eyelids.  And  she,  as  I  saw  her  now,  was  the  very 
model  and  semblance  of  the  character  that  I  had  all  my  life  been 
vainly  seeking !  This  was  the  creature  I  had  sighed  for,  when 
turning  away  from  the  too  mirthful  tenderness  of  Kate  Crediford  ! 
There  was  something  new,  or  something  for  the  moment  mis-writ 
ten,  in  that  familiar  countenance. 

I  made  my  way  out  of  the  pit  with  some  difficulty,  and  returned 
to  sit  near  her.  After  a  few  minutes,  a  gentleman  in  the  next 
box  rose,  and  left  the  seat  vacant  on  the  other  side  of  the  pilaster 
against  which  she  leaned.  I  went  around  while  the  orchestra 
were  playing  a  loud  march,  and,  without  being  observed  by  the 
thoughtful  beauty,  seated  myself  in  the  vacant  place. 

Why  did  my  eyes  flush  and  moisten,  as  I  looJked  upon  the  small 
white  hand  lying  on  the  cushioned  barrier  between  us  !  I 
knew  every  vein  of  it,  like  the  strings  of  my  own  heart.  I  had 
held  it  spread  out  in  my  own,  and  followed  its  delicate  blue  tra 
ceries  with  a  rose-stem,  for  hours  and  hours,  while  imploring,  and 
reproaching,  and  reasoning  over  love's  lights  and  shadows.  I 


150  THE  HAND  IN  LOVE. 


knew  the  feel  of  every  one  of  those  exquisite  fingers — those 
rolled  up  rose-leaves,  with  nails  like  pieces  cut  from  the  lip  of  a 
shell !  Oh,  the  promises  I  had  kissed  into  oaths  on  that  little 
chef-tfceume  of  nature'.s  tinted  alabaster  !  the  psalms  and  ser 
mons  I  had  sat  out,  holding  it,  in  her  father's  pew  !  the  many  a 
moon  I  had  tired  out  of  the  sky,  making  of  it  a  bridge  for  our 
hearts  passing  backward  and  forward  !  And  how  could  that  little 
wretch  of  a  hand,  that  knew  me  better  than  its  own  other  hand 
(for  we  had  been  more  together),  lie  there,  so  unconscious  of  my 
presence  ?  How  could  she — Kate  Crediford — sit  next  to  me  as 
she  was  doing,  with  only  a  stuffed  partition  between  us,  and  her 
head  leaning  on  one  side  of  a  pilaster,  and  mine  on  the  other, 
and  never  start,  nor  recognize,  nor  be  at  all  aware  of  my  neigh 
borhood  ?  She  was  not  playing  a  part,  it  was  easy  to  see.  Oh, 
I  knew  those  little  relaxed  fingers  too  well !  Sadness,  indolent 
and  luxurious  sadness,  was  expressed  in  her  countenance,  and  her 
abstraction  was  unfeigned  and  contemplative.  Could  she  have 
so  utterly  forgotten  me — magnetically  that  is  to  say  ? — Could  the 
atmosphere  about  her,  that  would  once  have  trembled  betray- 
ingly  at  my  approach,  like  the  fanning  of  an  angel's  invisible 
wing,  have  lost  the  sense  of  my  presence 

I  tried  to  magnetize  her  hand.  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  that  little 
open  palm,  and  with  all  the  intensity  1  could  summon,  kissed  it 
mentally  in  its  rosy  centre.  I  reproached  the  ungrateful  littl 
thing  for  its  dulness  and  forgetfulness,  and  brought  to  bear  upoi 
it  a  focus  of  old  memories  of  pressures  and  caresses,  to  which  i 
stone  would  scarce  have  the  heart  to  be  insensible. 

But  I  belie  myself  in  writing  this  with  a  smile.  I  watched  thos< 
unmoving  fingers  with  a  heart-ache.  I  could  not  see  the  face 
Dor  read  the  thought,  of  the  woman  who  had  once  loved  me,  anc 


KATE  CREDIFORD.  151 


1  -ho  sat  near  me,  now,  so  unconsciously — but,  if  a  memory  had 
tirred,  if  a  pulse  had  quickened  its  beat,  those  finely-strung 
.ngers,  I  well  knew,  would  have  trembled  responsively.  Had  she 
orgotten  me  altogether  ?  Is  that  possible  ?  Can  a  woman  close 
he  leaves  of  her  heart  over  a  once-loved  and  deeply-written 
lame,  like  the  waves  over  a  vessel's  track — like  the  air  over  the 
livision  of  a  bird's  flight  ? 

I  had  intended  to  speak  presently  to  Miss  Crediford,  but  every 
noment  the  restraint  became  greater.  I  felt  no  more  privileged 
1:0  speak  to  her  than  the  stranger  who  had  left  the  seat  I  occu 
pied.  I  drew  back,  for  fear  of  encroaching  on  her  room,  or  dis 
turbing  the  folds  of  her  shawl.  I  dared  not  speak  to  her.  And, 
while  I  was  arguing  the  matter  to  myself,  the  party  who  were 
with  her,  apparently  tired  of  the  play,  arose  and  left  the  theatre, 
Kate  following  last,  but  unspoken  to,  and  unconscious  altogether 
of  having  been  near  any  one  whom  she  knew. 

I  went  home  and  wrote  to  her  all  night,  for  there  was  no  sleep 
ing  till  I  had  given  vent  to  this  new  fever  at  my  heart,  And,  in 
the  morning  I  took  the  leading  thoughts  from  my  heap  of  inco 
herent  scribblings,  and  embodied  them  more  coolly  in  a  letter  : — 

"  You  will  think,  when  you  look  at  the  signature,  that  this  is 
to  be  the  old  story.  And  you  will  be  as  much  mistaken  as  you 
are  in  believing  that  I  was  ever  your  lover,  till  a  few  hours  ago. 
I  have  declared  love  to  you,  it  is  true.  I  have  been  happy' with 
you,  and  wretched  without  you  ;  I  have  thought  of  you,  dreamed 
of  you,  haunted  you,  sworn  to  you,  and  devoted  to  you  all  and 
more  than  you  exacted,  of  time  and  outward  service  and  adora 
tion  ;  but  I  love  you  now  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  Shall  I 


152  OLD  LOVE  NEW  BORN. 

be  so  Happy  as  to  make  you  comprehend  this  startling  contradic 
tion  ? 

'•'  There  are  many  chambers  in  the  heart,  Kate  ;  and  the  spirits 
of  some  of  us  dwell,  most  fondly  and  secretly,  in  the  chamber  of 
tears — avowedly,  however,  in  the  outer  and  ever-open  chamber 
of  mirth.  Over  the  sacred  threshold,  guarded  by  sadness,  much 
that  we  select  and  smile  upon,  and  follow  with  adulation  in  the 
common  walks  of  life,  never  passes.  We  admire  the  gay.  They 
make  our  melancholy  sweeter  by  contrast,  when  we  retire  within 
ourselves.  We  pursue  them.  We  take  them  to  our  hearts — to 
the  outer  vestibules  of  our  hearts — and,  if  they  are  gay  only,  they 
are  content  with  the  unconsecrated  tribute  which  we  pay  them 
there.  But  the  chamber  within  is,  meantime,  lonely.  It  aches 
with  its  desolation.  The  echo  of  the  mirthful  admiration,  without, 
jars  upon  its  mournful  silence.  It  longs  for  love,  but  love  toned 
with  its  own  sadness — love  that  can  penetrate  deeper  than  smiles 
ever  came — love  that,  having  once  entered,  can  be  locked  in  with 
its  key  of  melancholy,  and  brooded  over  with  the  long  dream  of  a 
life-time.  But  that  deep-hidden  and  unseen  chamber  of  the 
heart  may  be  long  untenanted.  And,  meantime,  the  spirit  be 
comes  weary  of  mirth,  and  impatiently  quenches  the  fire  even 
upon  its  outer  altar,  and,  in  the  complete  loneliness  of  a  heart 
that  has  no  inmate  or  idol,  gay  or  tearful,  lives  mechanically  on. 

"  Do  you  guess  at  my  meaning,  Kate  ? — Do  you  remember  the 
merriment  of  our  first  meeting  ?  Do  you  remember  in  what  a  frolic 
of  thoughtlessness  you  first  permitted  me  to  raise  to  my  lips  those 
restless  fingers  ?  Do  you  remember  the  mock  condescension,  the 
merry  haughtiness,  the  rallying  and  feigned  incredulity,  with 
which  you  first  received  my  successive  steps  of  vowing  and  love- 
making — the  arch  look  when  it  was  begun,  the  laugh  when  it  was 


KATE  CREDIFORD.  153 


over,  the  untiring  follies  we  kept  up,  after  vows  plighted,  and  the 
future  planned  and  sworn  to?  That  you  were  in  earnest,  as 
much  as  you  were  capable  of  being,  I  fully  believe.  You  would 
not  else  have  been  so  prodigal  of  the  sweet  bestowings  of  a 
maiden's  tenderness.  But  how  often  have  I  left  you,  with  the 
feeling,  that,  in  the  hours  I  had  passed  with  you,  my  spirit  had 
been  alone !  How  often  have  I  wondered  if  there  were  depths  in 
my  heart,  which  love  can  never  reach  ! — how  often  mourned  that, 
in  the  procession  of  love,  there  was  no  place  allotted  for  its 
sweetest  and  dearest  followers — tears  and  silence  !  Oh,  Kate  ! 
sweet  as  was  that  sun-gleam  of  early  passion,  I  did  not  love  you  ! 
I  tired  of  your  smiles,  waiting  in  vain  for  your  sadness.  I  left 
you,  and  thought  of  you  no  more  ? 

"  And  now — (and  you  will  be  surprised  to  know  that  I  have 
been  so  near  to  you  unperceived) — I  have  drank  an  intoxication 
from  one  glance  into  your  eyes,  which  throws  open  to  you  every 
door  of  my  heart,  subdues  to  your  control  every  nerve  and  feel 
ing  of  my  existence.  Last  night,  I  sat  an  hour,  tracing  again  the 
transparent  and  well-remembered  veins  upon  your  hand,  and  oh  ! 
how  the  language  written  in  those  branching  and  mystic  lines  had 
changed  in  meaning  aud  power. — You  were  sad.  I  saw  you  from 
a  distance,  and,  with  amazement  at  an  expression  upon  your  face 
which  I  had  never  before  seen.  I  came  and  sat  near  you.  It 
was  the  look  I  had  longed  for  when  I  knew  you,  and  when  tired  of 
your  mirth.  It  was  the  look  I  had  searched  the  world  for,  com 
bined  with  such  beauty  as  yours.  It  was  a  look  of  tender  and 
passionate  melancholy,  which  revealed  to  me  an  unsuspected 
chamber  in  your  heart — a  chamber  of  tears.  Ah,  why  were  you 
never  sad  before  ?  Why  have  we  lost — why  have  I  lost  the 
eternity's  worth  of  sweet  hours,  when  you  loved  me  with  that  con- 


154  MEANING  IN  A  CAUSE. 


cealed  treasure  in  your  bosom  ? — Alas  !  that  angels  must  walk  the 
world,  unrecognised,  till  too  late  !  Alas,  that  I  have  held  in  my 
arms,  and  pressed  to  my  lips,  and  loosed  again  with  trifling  and 
weariness,  the  creature  whom  it  was  my  life's  errand,  the 
thirst  and  passionate  longing  of  my  nature,  to  find  and  worship  ! 

"Oh,  Heaven !  with  what  new  value  do  I  now  number  over 
your  adorable  graces  of  person !  How  spiritualized  is  every 
familiar  feature,  once  so  deplorably  misappreciated  ! — How  com 
pulsive  of  respectful  adoration  is  that  flexible  waist,  that  step  of 
aerial  lightness,  that  swan-like  motion,  which  I  once  dared  to 
praise,  triflingly  and  half-mockingly,  like  the  tints  of  a  flower  or 
the  chance  beauty  of  a  bird !  And  those  bright  lips !  How  did 
I  ever  look  on  them,  and  not  know,  that,  within  their  rosy  portal, 
slept,  voiceless  for  a  while,  the  controlling  spell  of  my  destiny — 
the  tearful  spirit  followed  and  called  in  my  dreams,  with  perpetual 
longing  ?  Strange  value  given  to  features  and  outward  loveli 
ness  by  qualities  within  ?  Strange  witchery  of  sadness  in  a 
woman  !  Oh,  there  is,  in  mirth  and  folly,  dear  Kate,  no  air  for 
love's  breathing — still  less  of  food  for  constancy,  or  of  holiness  to 
consecrate  and  heighten  beauty  of  person. 

"  What  can  I  say  else,  except  implore  to  be  permitted  to  ap 
proach  you — to  offer  my  life  to  you — to  begin,  thus  late,  after 
being  known  so  long,  the  worship  which  till  death  is  your  due : 
Pardon  me  if  I  have  written  abruptly  and  wildly.  I  shall  awaii 
your  answer  in  an  agony  of  expectation.  I  do  not  willingly 
breathe  till  I  see  you — till  I  weep  at  your  feet  over  my  blindness 
and  forgetfulness.  Adieu!  but  let  it  not  be  for  long.  I  pray 
you!" 

I  despatched  this  letter,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  embody  in 


KATE  CREDIFORD.  155 


.i  inguage  the  agony  I  suffered  in  waiting  for  a  reply.     I  walked 
'    ly  room,  that  endless  morning,  with  a  death-pang  in  every  step — 
;  )  fearful  was  I — so  prophetically  fearful — that  I  had  forfeited  for 
c  ver  the  heart  I  had  once  flung  from  inc. 

It  was  noon  when  a  letter  arrived.  It  was  in  a  hand- writing 
i  ew  to  me.  But  it  was  on  the  subject  which  possessed  my  exist- 
€  ace,  and  it  was  of  final  import.  It  follows  : — 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  My  wife  wishes  me  to  write  to  you,  and  inform 
you  of  her  marriage,  which  took  place  a  week  or  two  since,  and  of 
which  she  presumes  you  are  not  aware.  She  remarked  to  me, 
that  you  thought  her  looking  unhappy  last  evening,  when  you 
chanced  to  see  her  at  the  play.  As  she  seemed  to  regret  not 
being  able  to  answer  your  note  herself,  I  may  perhaps  convey  the 
proper  apology  by  taking  upon  myself  to  mention  to  you,  that,  in 
consequence  of  eating  an  imprudent  quantity  of  unripe  fruit,  she 
felt  ill  before  going  to  the  theatre,  and  was  obliged  to  leave  early, 
To  day  she  seems  seriously  indisposed.  I  trust  she  will  be  well 
enough  to  see  you  in  a  day  or  two — and  remain, 
"  Yours,  truly, 

"  SAMUEL  SMITHERS." 

But  I  never  called  on  Mrs.  Samuel  Smithers 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING, 


'•  The  only  heart  that  I  have  known  of  late,  has  been  an  easy,  exciteable  sort  of  j 
gentleman,  quickly  roused  and  quickly  calmed— sensitive  enough  to  confer  a  great  I 
deal  of  pleasure,  and  not  sensitive  enough  to  give  a  moment's  pain.  The  heart  of  ! 
other  days  was  a  very  different  person  indeed." — BULWER. 

I  WAS  moping  one  day  in  solitary  confinement  in  quarantine  at 
Malta,  when,  in  a  turn  between  my  stone  window  and  the  back 
wall,  I  saw  the  yards  of  a  vessel  suddenly  cross  the  light,  and 
heard  the  next  moment  the  rattle  of  a  chain  let  go,  and  all  the 
bustle  of  a  merchantman  coming  to  anchor.     I  had  the  privilege 
of  promenading  between  two  ring-bolts  on  the  wharf  below  the 
lazaretto,  and,  with  the  attraction  of  a  new-comer  to  the  sleepy 
company   of  vessels  under  the   yellow   flag,   I  lost  no  time    in! 
descending  the  stone  stairs,  and  was  immediately  joined  by  my' 
vigilant  sentinel,  the  guardiano,  whose  business  it  was  to  prevent 
my  contact  with  the  other  visitors  to  the  wharf.     The  tricolor, 
flew  at  the  peak  of  the  stranger,  and  we  easily  made  out  that  she; 
was  a  merchantman  from  Marseilles,  subject  therefore  to  a  week's 
quarantine  on  account  of  the  cholera.     I  had  myself  come  from  a  j 
plague  port,  Smyrna,  and  was  subjected  to  twenty  days'  quaran-f 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  157 


tine,  six  of  which  had  passed ;  so  that  the  Frenchman,  though  but 
beginning  his  imprisonment,  was  in  a  position  comparatively 
enviable. 

I  had  watched  for  an  hour  the  getting  of  the  vessel  into  moor 
ing  trim,  and  was  beginning  to  conclude  that  she  had  come 
without  passengers,  when  a  gentleman  made  his  appearance  on 
deck,  and  the  jolly-boat  was  immediately  lowered  and  manned. 
A  traveller's  baggage  was  handed  over  the  side,  the  gentleman 
took  leave  of  the  captain,  and,  in  obedience  to  directions  from  the 
quarantine  officer  on  the  quarterdeck,  the  boat  was  pulled  directly 
to  the  wharf  on  which  1  stood.  The  guardiano  gave  me  a 
a  caution  to  retire  a  little,  as  the  stranger  was  coming  to  take 
possession  of  the  next  apartment  to  my  own,  and  must  land  at 
the  stairs  near  by ;  but,  before  I  had  taken  two  steps  backward,  I 
began  to  recognise  features  familiar  to  me,  and,  with  a  turn  of  the 
head  as  he  sprang  on  the  wharf,  the  identity  was  established  com 
pletely.  Tom  Berryman,  by  all  that  was  wonderful !  I  had  not 
seen  him  since  we  were  suspended  from  college  together,  ten  years 
before.  Forgetting  lazaretto  and  guardiano,  and  all  the  salt 
water  between  New  Haven  and  Malta,  I  rushed  up  to  Tom  with 
the  cordiality  of  other  days,  (a  little  sharpened  by  abstinence  from 
society,)  and  we  still  had  hold  of  hands  with  a  firm  grip,  when 
the  quarantine  master  gravely  accosted  us,  and  informed  my 
friend  that  he  had  incurred  an  additional  week  by  touching  me — • 
in  short,  that  he  must  partake  of  the  remainder  of  my  qua 
rantine. 

Aghast  and  chap-fallen  as  Berryman  was,  at  the  consequences 
of  our  rencontre,  (for  he  had  fully  calculated  on  getting  into  Malta 
in  time  for  the  carnival,)  he  was  somewhat  reconciled  to  his  lot 
by  being  permitted  to  share  my  room  and  table  instead  of  living 


158  QUARANTINE  PASTIME. 


his  week  in  solitude ;  and,  by  enriching  our  supplies  a  little  from 
town,  sleeping  much,  and  chatting  through  the  day  in  the  rich 
sunshine  of  that  climate  of  Paradise,  we  contrived  to  shove  off 
the  fortnight  without  any  very  intolerable  tedium. 

My  friend  and  I  had  begun  our  travels  differently — he  taking 
England  first,  which  I  proposed  visiting  last.  It  is  of  course  the 
bonne  louche  of  travel  to  everybody,  and  I  was  very  curious  to 
know  Tom's  experiences ;  and,  as  I  was  soon  bound  thitherward, 
anxious  to  pick  out  of  his  descriptions  some  chart  of  the  rocks 
and  shoals  in  the  "  British  channel"  of  society. 

I  should  say,  before  quoting  my  friend,  that  he  was  a  Ken- 
tuckian,  with  the  manner  (to  ladies)  of  mingled  devotion  and 
nonchalance  so  popular  with  the  sex,  and  a  chivalric  quality  ol 
man  altogether.  His  father's  political  influence  had  obtained  for 
him  personal  letters  of  introduction  from  the  President,  and,  with 
this  advantage,  and  his  natural  air  of  fashion,  he  had  found  no 
obstacle  to  choosing  his  society  in  England ;  choosing  the  first,  oi 
course,  like  a  true  republican  ! 

We  were  sitting  on  the  water-steps  with  our  feet  immersed  uj 
to  the  ankles,  (in  January  too,)  and  in  reply  to  some  question  o; 
mine  as  to  the  approachability  of  noble  ladies  by  such  plebeiai 
lovers  as  himself,  Tom  told  me  the  story  which  follows.  I  takt 
the  names  at  random,  of  course,  but  in  all  else,  I  shall  try  tc 
"  tell  the  tale  as  'twas  told  to  me." 

Why,  circumstances,  as  you  know,  sometimes  put  people  in  th< 
attitude  of  lovers,  whether  they  will  or  no  ;  and  it  is  but  civil  ii 
such  a  case,  to  do  what  fate  expects  of  you.  I  knew  too  much  o 
the  difference  between  crockery  and  porcelain  to  enter  Englisl 
society  with  the  remotest  idea  of  making  love  within  the  red  boo] 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  159 


>f  the  peerage,  and  though  I've  a  story  to  tell,  I  swear  I  never 
out  a  foot  forward  till  I  thought  it  was  knightly  devoir  ;  inevitable, 
:hough  ever  so  ridiculous.  Still,  I  must  say,  with  a  beautiful 
and  unreserved  woman  beside  one,  very  much  like  other  beau 
tiful  and  unreserved  woman,  a  republican  might  be  pardoned  for 
forgetting  the  invisible  wall.  "  Right  Honorable"  loveliness  has 
as  much  attraction  about  it,  let  me  tell  you,  and  is  quite  as  diffi 
cult  to  resist,  as  loveliness  that  is  honored,  right  or  wrong  ;  and  a 
man  must  be  brought  up  to  it,  as  Englishmen  are,  to  see  the 
heraldric  dragons  and  griffins  in  the  air  when  a  charming  girl  is 
talking  to  him. 

"  "Why  should  a  man  whose  blood  is  warm  within, 
*  Sit  like  (her)  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster  ?;' 

if 

Eh  ?     But  to  begin  with  the  "  Tityre  tu  patulse." 

I  had  been  passing  a  fortnight  at  the  hunting  lodge  of  that  wild 

devil,  Lord ,  in  the  Scotch  Highlands,  and,  what  with  being 

freely  wet  outside  every  day,  and  freely  wet  inside  every  night,  I 
had  given  my  principle  of  life  rather  a  disgust  to  its  lodgings,  and 
there  were  some  symptoms  of  preparation  for  leave-taking.  Un 
willing  to  be  ill  in  a  bachelor's  den,  with  no  solace  tenderer  than 
a  dandy  lord's  tiger,  I  made  a  twilight  flit  to  the  nearest  post- 
town,  and,  tightening  my  life-screws  a  little  with  the  aid  of  the 
village  apothecary,  started  southward  the  next  morning  with  four 
posters. 

I  expected  to  be  obliged  to  pull  up  at  Edinboro',  but  the 
doctor's  opiates,  and  abstinence  and  quiet,  did  more  for  me  than 
1  had  hoped,  and  I  went  on  very  comfortably  to  Carlisle.  I 
arrived  at  this  place  after  nightfall,  and  found  the  taverns  over 
flowing  with  the  crowds  of  a  Fair,  and  no  bed  to  be  had  unless  I 


160  COMPULSORY  TRAVEL. 


could  make  one  in  a  quartette  of  snoring  graziers.  At  the  same 
time  there  was  a  great  political  meeting  at  Edinboro',  and  every 
leg  of  a  poster  had  gone  north — those  I  had  brought  with  me 
having  been  trans-hitched  to  a  return  chaise,  and  gone  off  while  I 
was  looking  for  accommodations. 

Regularly  stranded,  I  sat  down  by  the  tap-room  fire,  and  was 
mourning  my  disaster,  when  the  horn  of  the  night-coach  reached 
my  ear,  and,  in  the  minute  of  its  rattling  up  to  the  door,  I  hastily 
resolved  that  it  was  the  least  of  two  evils,  and  booked  myself  ac 
cordingly.  There  was  but  one  vacant  place,  an  outsider  !  With 
hardly  time  enough  to  resolve,  and  none  to  repent,  I  was  pre 
sently  rolling  over  the  dark  road,  chilled  to  the  bone  in  the  first 
five  minutes,  and  wet  through  with  a  "  Scotch  mist"  in  the  next 
half  hour.  Somewhere  about  daybreak  we  rolled  into  the  little 

town  of ,  five  miles  from  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Tresethen, 

to  whose  hospitalities  I  stood  invited,  and  I  went  to  bed  in  a  most 
comfortable  inn  and  slept  till  noon. 

Before  going  to  bed  I  had  written  a  note  to  be  despatched  to 
Tresethen  castle,  and  the  Earl's  carriage  was  waiting  for  me 
when  I  awoke.  I  found  myself  better  than  I  had  expected,  and 
dressing  at  once  for  dinner,  managed  to  reach  the  castle  just  in 
time  to  hand  in  Lady  Tresethen.  Of  that  dinner  I  but  remember 
that  I  was  the  only  guest,  and  that  the  Earl  regretted  his 
daughter's  absence  from  table,  Lady  Caroline  having  been 
thrown  that  morning  from  her  horse .  I  fainted  somewhere  about 
the  second  remove,  and  recovered  my  wits  some  days  after,  on 
the  safe  side  of  the  crisis  of  a  fever. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  first  half  hour  of  conscious  curiosity. 
An  exquisite  sense  of  bodily  repose,  mingled  with  a  vague  notion 
of  recent  relief  from  pain,  made  me  afraid  to  speak  lest  I  should 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  161 


awake  from  a  dream,  yet,  if  not  a  dream,  what  a  delicious 
reality  !  A  lady  of  most  noble  presence,  in  a  half-mourning  dress, 
sat  by  the  side  of  a  cheerful  fire,  turning  her  large  dark  eyes  on 
me,  in  the  pauses  of  a  conversation  with  a  grey-headed  servant. 
My  bed  was  of  the  most  sumptuous  luxury ;  the  chamber  was 
hung  with  pictures  and  draped  with  spotless  white ;  the  table 
covered  with  the  costliest  elegancies  of  the  toilet ;  and,  in  the 
gentle  and  deferential  manner  of  the  old  liveried  menial,  and  the 
subdued  tones  of  inquiry  by  the  lady,  there  was  a  refinement  and 
tenderness  which,  with  the  keen  susceptibility  of  my  senses,  "  lapt 
me  in  Elysium."  I  was  long  in  remembering  where  I  was.  The 
lady  glided  from  the  room,  the  old  servant  resumed  his  seat  by 
my  bedside,  other  servants  in  the  same  livery  came  softly  in 
on  errands  of  service,  and,  at  the  striking  of  the  half  hour  by  a 
clock  on  the  mantlepiece,  the  lady  returned,  and  I  was  raised  to 
receive  something  from  her  hand.  As  she  came  nearer,  I  remem 
bered  the  Countess  Tresethen. 

Three  days  after  this  I  was  permitted  to  take  the  air  of  a  con 
servatory  which  opened  from  the  Countess's  boudoir.  My  old 
attendant  assisted  me  to  dress,  and,  with  another  servant,  took 
me  down  in  a  fauteuil.  I  was  in  slippers  and  robe-de-chambre, 
and  presumed  that  I  should  see  no  one  except  the  kind  and  noble 
Lady  Tresethen,  but  I  had  scarce  taken  one  turn  up  the  long 
alley  of  flowering  plants,  when  the  Countess  came  toward  me  from 
the  glass  door  beyond,  and  on  her  arm  a  girl  leaned  for  support, 
whose  beauty 

(Here  Tom  dabbled  his  feet  for  some  minutes  in  the  water  in 
silence.) 

God  bless  me  !  I  can  never  give  you  an  idea  of  it !  It  was  a 
new  revelation  of  woman  to  me ;  the  opening  of  an  eighth  seal. 


162  LOVE  IN  CONVALESCENCE. 


In  the  minute  occupied  by  her  approach,  my  imagination 
(accelerated,  as  that  faculty  always  is,  by  the  clairvoyance  of 
sickness),  had  gone  through  a  whole  drama  of  love — fear,  adora 
tion,  desperation,  and  rejection — and,  so  complete  was  it,  that  in 
after  moments,  when  these  phases  of  passion  came  round  in  the 
proper  lapse  of  days  and  weeks,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  been 
through  with  them  before  ;  that  it  was  all  familiar  ;  that  I  had 
met  and  loved,  in  some  other  world,  this  same  glorious  creature, 
with  the  same  looks,  words,  and  heart-ache ;  in  the  same  con 
servatory  of  bright  flowers,  and,  faith  !  myself  in  the  same  pattern 
of  a  brocade  dressing-gown  ! 

Heavens  !  what  a  beautiful  girl  was  that  Lady  Caroline  !  Her 
eyes  were  of  a  light  grey,  the  rim  of  the  lids  perfectly  inky  with 
the  darkness  of  the  long  sweeping  lashes,  and  in  her  brown  hair 
there  was  a  gold  lustre  that  seemed  somehow  to  illuminate  the 
curves  of  her  small  head  like  a  halo.  Her  mouth  had  too  much 
character  for  a  perfectly  agreeable  first  impression.  It  was  nobil 
ity  and  sweetness  educated  over  native  high  spirit  and  scornful- 
ness — tho  nature  shining  through  the  transparent  blood,  like  a  flaw 
through  enaxiel.  She  would  have  been,  in  other  circumstances, 
a  maid  of  Saragossa  or  a  Gertrude  Von  Wart ;  a  heroine  ;  per 
haps  a  devil.  But  her  fascination  was  resistless  ! 

"  My  daughter,"  said  Lady  Tresethen  (and  in  that  beginning 
was  all  the  introduction  she  thought  necessary),  "  is,  like  yourself, 
an  invalid  just  escaped  from  the  doctor ;  you  must  congratulate 
each  other.  Are  you  strong  enough  to  lend  her  an  arm,  Mr. 
Berryman  ?" 

The  Countess  left  us,  and,  with  the  composure  of  a  sister  who 
had  seen  me  every  day  of  my  life,  Lady  Caroline  took  my  a 
and  strolled  slowly  to  and  fro,  questioning  me  of  my  shooting 


: 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  163 


he  lodge,  and  talking  to  me  of  her  late  accident,  her  eyes  some- 
imes  fixed  upon  her  little  embroidered  slippers,  as  they  peeped 
rom  her  snowy  morning  dress,  and  sometimes  indolently  raised 
.nd  brought  to  bear  on  my  flushed  cheek  and  trembling  lips  ;  her 
ingular  serenity  operating  upon  me  as  anything  but  a  sedative  ! 
was  taken  up  stairs  again,  after  an  hour's  conversation,  in  a  fair 
vay  for  a  relapse,  and  the  doctor  put  me  under  embargo  again  for 
.mother  week,  which,  spite  of  all  the  renewed  care  and  tender 
ness  of  Lady  Tresethen,  seemed   to  me  an   eternity !     I'll  not 
bother  you  with  what  I  felt  and  thought  all  that  time  ! 

It  was  a  brilliant  autumnal  day  when  I  got  leave  to  make  my 
second  exodus,  and  with  the  doctor's  permission  I  prepared  for  a 
short  walk  in  the  park.  I  declined  the  convoy  of  the  old  servant, 
for  I  had  heard  Lady  Caroline's  horse  gallop  away  down  the 
avenue,  and  I  wished  to  watch  her  return  unobserved.  I  had  just 
lost  sight  of  the  castle  in  the  first  bend  of  the  path,  when  I  saw 
her  quietly  wralking  her  horse  under  the  trees  at  a  short  distance, 
and,  the  moment  after,  she  observed  and  came  toward  me  at  an 
easy  canter.  I  had  schooled  myself  to  a  little  more  self-pos 
session,  but  I  was  not  prepared  for  such  an  apparition  of  splendid 
beauty  as  that  woman  on  horseback.  She  rode  an  Arabian  bay 
of  the  finest  blood  ;  a  lofty,  fiery,  matchless  creature,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  eye  and  nostril  which  I  could  not  but  think  a  proper 
pendant  to  her  own,  limbed  as  I  had  seldom  seen  a  horse,  and  his 
arched  neck,  and  forehead,  altogether,  proud  as  a  steed  for 
Lucifer.  She  sat  on  him  as  if  it  were  a  throne  she  was  born  to, 
and  the  flow  of  her  riding-dress  seemed  as  much  a  part  of  him  as 
his  mane.  He  appeared  ready  to  bound  into  the  air,  like  Pegasus, 
but  one  hand  calmly  stroked  his  mane,  and  her  face  was  as  tran 
quil  as  marble. 


164  CONTAGIOUS  EXCITEMENT. 


"  Well  met !"  she  said  ;  "  I  was  just  wishing  for  a  cavalier. 
What  sort  of  a  horse  would  you  like,  Mr.  Berrymaii  ?  Ellis  !" 
(speaking  to  her  groom),  "  is  old  Curtal  taken  up  from  grass  ?" 

"  Yes,  miladi!" 

"  Curtal  is  our  invalid  horse,  and,  as  you  are  not  very  strong, 
perhaps  his  easy  pace  will  be  best  for  you.  Bring  him  out 
directly,  Ellis.  We'll  just  walk  along  the  road  a  little  way  ;  for 
I  must  show  you  my  Arabian ;  and  we'll  not  go  back  to  ask 
mamma's  permission,  for  we  shouldn't  get  it !  You  won't  mind 
riding  a  little  way,  will  you  ?" 

Of  course  I  would  have  bestrided  a  hippogriff  at  her  bidding, 
and  when  the  groom  came  out,  leading  a  thorough -bred  hunter, 
with  apparently  a  very  elastic  and  gentle  action,  I  forgot  the 
doctor  and  mounted  with  great  alacrity.  We  walked  our  horses 
slowly  down  the  avenue  and  out  at  the  castle  gate,  followed  by 
the  groom,  and,  after  trying  a  little  quicker  pace  on  the  public 
road,  I  pronounced  old  Curtal  worthy  of  her  ladyship's  eulogium, 
and  her  own  Saladin  worthy,  if  horse  could  be  worthy,  of  his 
burthen. 

We  had  ridden  perhaps  a  mile,  and  Lady  Caroline  was  giving 
me  a  slight  history  of  the  wonderful  feats  of  the  old  veteran  under 
me,  when  the  sound  of  a  horn  made  both  horses  prick  up  their 
ears,  and,  on  rising  a  little  acclivity,,  we  caught  sight  of  a  pack  of 
hounds  coming  across  the  fields  directly  towards  us,  followed  by 
some  twenty  red-coated  horsemen.  Old  Curtal  trembled  and 
showed  a  disposition  to  fret,  and  I  observed  that  Lady  Caroline 
dexterously  lengthened  her  own  stirrup  and  loosened  the  belt  of 
her  riding-dress,  and  the  next  minute  the  hounds  were  over  the 
hedge,  and  the  horsemen,  leap  after  leap,  after  them,  and  with 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  165 


every  successive  jump?   my  own  steed  reared  and  plunged  un 
manageably. 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot  stand  this  !"  cried  Lady  Caroline,  gathering 
up  her  reins,  "  Ellis  !  see  Mr.  Berryman  home  !"  and  away  went 
the  flying  Arabian  over  the  hedge  with  a  vault  that  left  me  breath 
less  with  astonishment.     One  minute  I  made  the  vain  effort  to 
control  my  own  horse,  and  turn  his  head  in  the  other  direction, 
but  my  strength  was  gone.     I  had  never  leaped  a  fence  in  my  life 
on  horseback,  though  a  tolerable  rider  on  the  road ;  but  before  I 
could  think  how  it  was  to  be  done,  or  gather  myself  together  for 
the  leap,  Curtal  was  over  the  hedge  with  me,  and  flying  across  a 
i  ploughed  field  like  the  wind — Saladin  not  far  before  him.     With 
a  glance  ahead  I  saw  the  red  coats  rising  into  the  air  and  disap 
pearing  over  another  green   hedge,   and,  though  the  field  was 
crossed  in  twenty  leaps,  I  had  time  to  feel  my  blood  run  cold  with 
the  prospect  of  describing  another  parabola  in  the  air,  and  to 
speculate  on  the  best  attitude  for  a  projectile  on  horseback.     Over 
went  Saladin  like    a   greyhound,    but  his  mistress's   riding-cap 
caught  the  wind  at  the  highest  point  of  the  curve,  and  flew  back 
into  my  face  as  Curtal  rose  on  his  haunches,  and  over  I  went 
again,  blinded  and  giddy,  and,  with  the  cap  held  flat  against  my 
bosom  by  the  pressure  of  the  air,  flew  once  more  at  a  tremendous 
pace  onward.     My  feet  were  now  plunged  to  the  instep  in  the 
|  stirrups,  and  my  back,  too  weak  to  support  me  erect,  let  me  down 
I  to  my  horse's  mane,  and,  one  by  one,  along  the  skirt  of  a  rising 
;  woodland,   I   could  see  the  red   coats  dropping  slowly  behind. 
Right  before  me  like  a  meteor,  however,  streamed  back  the  loos- 
I  ened  tresses  of  Lady  Caroline,    and  Curtal  kept    close  on  the 
i  track  of  Saladin,  neither  losing  nor  gaining  an  inch  apparently, 
and  nearer  and  nearer  sounded  the  baying  of  the  hounds,  and 


166  AN  INVOLUNTARY  CHASE. 


clearer  became  my  view  of  the  steady  and  slight  waist  riding  so 
fearlessly  onward.  Of  my  horse  I  had  neither  guidance  nor  con 
trol.  He  needed  none.  The  hounds  had  crossed  a  morass,  and 
we  were  rounding  a  half-circle  on  an  acclivity  to  come  up  with 
them,  and  Curtal  went  at  it  too  confidently  to  be  in  error.  Evenly 
as  a  hand-gallop  on  a  green  sward  his  tremendous  pace  told  off, 
and  if  his  was  the  ease  of  muscular  power,  the  graceful  speed  of 
the  beautiful  creature  moving  before  me  seemed  the  aerial  buoy 
ancy  of  a  bird.  Obstructions  seemed  nothing.  That  flowing 
dress  and  streaming  hair  sailed  over  rocks  and  ditches,  and  over 
them,  like  their  inseparable  shadow,  glided  I,  and,  except  one 
horseman  who  still  kept  his  distance  ahead,  we  seemed  alone  in 
the  field.  The  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  the  exclamations  of  excite 
ment  had  ceased  behind  me,  and,  though  I  was  capable  of  no 
exertion  beyond  that  of  keeping  my  seat,  I  no  longer  feared  the 
leap  nor  the  pace,  and  began  to  anticipate  a  safe  termination  to 
my  perilous  adventure.  A  slight  exclamation  from  Lady  Caro 
line  reached  my  ear  and  I  looked  forward.  A  small  river  waff 
before  us,  and,  from  the  opposite  bank,  of  steep  clay,  the  rider 
who  had  preceded  us  was  falling  back,  his  horse's  forefeet  high  in 
the  air,  and  his  arms  already  in  the  water.  I  tried  to  pull  my 
reins.  I  shouted  to  my  horse  in  desperation.  And,  with  the  ex 
ertion,  my  heart  seemed  to  give  way  within  me.  Giddy  and 
faint  I  abandoned  myself  to  my  fate.  I  just  saw  the  flying  heels 
of  Saladin  planted  on  the  opposite  bank  and  the  streaming  hair 
still  flying  onward,  when,  with  a  bound  that,  it  seemed  to  me, 
must  rend  every  fibre  of  the  creature  beneath  me,  I  saw  the 
water  gleam  under  my  feet,  and  still  I  kept  on.  We  flew  over  a 
fence  into  a  stubble  field,  the  hounds  just  before  us,  and  over  a 
gate  into  the  public  highway,  which  we  followed  for  a  dozen 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  167 

KHinds,  and  then,  with  a  pace  slightly  moderated,  we  successively 

•leared  a  low  wall  and  brought  up,  on  our  horses'  haunches,  in 

he  midst  of  an  uproar  of  dogs,  cows,  and  scattering  poultry — the 

DX  having  been  run  down  at  last  in  the  enclosure  of  a  barn.     I 

lad  just  strength  to  extricate  my  feet  from  the  stirrups,  take  Lady 

Caroline's  cap,  which  had  kept  its  place  between  my  elbows  and 

cnees,  and  present  it  to  her  as  she  sat  in  her  saddle,  and  my  legs 

;;ave  way  under  me.     I  was  taken  into  the  farmhouse,  and,  at  the 

close  of  a  temporary  ellipse,  I  was  sent  back  to  Tresethen  Castle 

in  a  post-chaise,  and  once  more  handed  over  to  the  doctor  ! 

Well,  my  third  siege  of  illness  was  more  tolerable,  for  I  received 
daily,  now,  some  message  of  inquiry  or  some  token  of  interest  from 
Lady  Caroline,  though  I  learned  from  the  Countess  that  she  was 
in  sad  disgrace  for  her  inveiglement  of  my  trusting  innocence.  I 
also  received  the  cards  of  the  members  of  the  hunt,  with  many 
inquiries  complimentary  to  what  they  were  pleased  to  consider 
American  horsemanship,  and  I  found  that  my  seizure  of  the  flying 
sap  of  Lady  Caroline  and  presentation  of  it  to  her  Ladyship  at 
•'  the  death,"  was  thought  to  be  worthy,  in  chivalry  of  Bayard, 
ind  in  dexterity  of  Ducrow.  Indeed,  when  let  out  again  to  the 
sonvalescent  walk  in  the  conservatory,  I  found  that  I  was  counted 
i  hero  even  by  the  stately  Earl.  There  slipped  a  compliment, 
too,  here  and  there,  through  the  matronly  disapprobation  of 
Lady  Tresethen — and  all  this  was  too  pleasant  to  put  aside  with 
a  disclaimer — so  I  bid  truth  and  modesty  hold  their  peace,  and 
took  the  honor  the  gods  chose  to  provide. 

But  now  came  dangers  more  perilous  than  my  ride  on  Curtal. 
Lady  Caroline  was  called  upon  to  be  kind  to  me  !  Daily  as  the 
pld  servant  left  me  in  the  alley  of  japonicas,  she  appeared  from 
the  glass  door  of  her  mother's  boudoir  and  devoted  herself  to  my 


168  DANGEROUS. 


comfort — walking  with  me,  while  I  could  walk,  in  those  fragrant 
and  balmy  avenues  of  flowers,  and  then  bringing  me  into  her 
mother's  luxurious  apartment,  where  books,  and  music,  and  con 
versation  as  frank  and  untrammelled  as  man  in  love  could  ask, 
wiled  away  the  day.  Wiled  it  away  ? — winged  it — shod  it  with 
velvet  and  silence,  for  I  never  knew  how  it  passed  !  Lady  Caro 
line  had  a  mind,  of  the  superiority  stamped  so  consciously  on  her 
lip.  She  anticipated  no  consequences  from  her  kindness,  there 
fore  she  was  playful  and  unembarrassed.  She  sang  to  me,  and  I 
read  to  her.  Her  rides  were  given  up,  and  Saladin  daily  went 
past  the  window  to  his  exercise,  and,  with  my  most  zealous  scrutiny, 
I  could  detect  in  her  face  neither  impatience  of  confinement  nor 
regret  at  the  loss  of  weather  fitter  for  pleasures  out  of  doors. 
Spite  of  every  caution  with  which  hope  could  be  chained  down,  I 
was  flattered. 

You  smile — (Tom  said,  though  he  was  looking  straight  into  the 
water,  and  had  not  seen  my  face  for  half  an  hour) — but,  without 
the  remotest  hope  of  taking  Lady  Caroline  to  Kentucky,  or  of 
becoming  English  on  the  splendid  dowry  of  the  heiress  of  Trese- 
then,  I  still  felt  it  impossible  to  escape  from  my  lover's  attitude — 
impossible  to  avoid  hoarding  up  symptoms,  encouragements,  flat 
teries,  and  all  the  moonshine  of  amatory  anxiety.  I  was  in  love 
— and  who  reasons  in  love  ? 

One  morning,  after  I  had  become  an  honorary  patient — an  in- , 
valid  only  by  sufferance — and  was  slowly  admitting  the  unwelcome 
conviction  that  it  was  time  for  me  to  be  shaping  my  adieux — the  I 
conversation  took  rather  a  philosophical  turn.     The  starting  point 
was  a  quotation,  in  a  "magazine,  from  Richter  :   "  Is  not  a  man's 
universe  within  his  head,  whether  a  king's  diadem  or  a  torn  scull- 
cap  be  without  ?" — and  I  had  insisted  rather  strenuously  on  the 


FLIRTATION  AND  FOX-CHASING.  169 

levelling  privilege  we  enjoyed  in  the  existence  of  a  second  world 
around  us — the  world  of  revcry  and  dream — wherein  the  tyranny, 
and  check,  and  the  arbitary  distinctions  of  the  world  of  fact,  were 
never  felt — and  where  he,  though  he  might  be  a  peasant,  who  had 
i  the  consciousness  in  his  soul  that  he  was  a  worthy  object  of  love 
to  a  princess,  could  fancy  himself  beloved  and  revel  in  imaginary 
possession. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  turning  with  a  sudden  flush  of  self-confidence 
'  to  Lady  Caroline,  "  Why  should  not  the  passions  of  such  a  world, 
the  loving  and  returning  of  love  infancy,  have  the  privilege  of 
language  :     Why  should  not  matches  be  made,  love  confessed, 
i  vows  exchanged,  and  fidelity  sworn,  valid  within  the  realm  of  dream- 
laud  only  ?     Why  should  I  not  say  to  you,  for  example,  I  adore 
i  you,  dear  lady,  and  in  my  world  of  thought  you  shall,  if  you  so 
condescend,  be  my  bride  and  mistress  ;  and  why,  if  you  responded 
to  this  and  listened  to  my  vows  of  fancy,  should  your  bridegroom 
of  the  world  of  fact  feel  his  rights  invaded  ?" 

"  In  fancy  let  it  be  then  !"  said  Lady  Caroline,  with  a  blush 
and  a  covert  smile,  and  she  rang  the  bell  for  luncheon. 

Well — I  still  lingered  a  couple  of  days,  and,  on  the  last  day  of 

my  stay  at  Tresethen,  I  became   sufficiently  emboldened  to  take 

Lady  Caroline's  hand,  behind  the  fountain  of  the  conservatory, 

and  to  press  it  to  my  lips   with  a  daring  wish   that  its  warm 

i  pulses  belonged  to  the  world  of  fancy. 

She  withdrew  it  very  kindly,  and  (I  thought)  sadly,  and  begged 
|  me  to  go  to  the  boudoir  and  bring  her  a  volume  of  Byron  that 
lay  on  her  work-table. 

I  brought  it,  and  she  turned  over  the  leaves  a  moment,  and, 
with  her  pencil,  marked  two  lines  and  gave  ine  the  book,  bidding 
me  an  abrupt  good  morning.  I  stood  a  few  minutes  with  my 


170  THE  WAY  HEARTS  BREAK. 

heart  beating  ana  my  brain  faint,  but  finally  summoned  courage 
to  read : — 

;i  I  can  not  lose  a  world  for  thee — 
But  would  not  lose  thee  for  the  world  !" 

I  left  Tresethen  the  next  morning,  and 

"  Hold  on,  Tom  !"  cried  I — "  there  comes  the  boat  with  our 
dinner  from  Valetta,  and  we'll  have  your  sorrows  over  our  Bur 
gundy." 

"  Sorrows !"  exclaimed  Tom,  "  I  was  going  to  tell  you  of  the 
fun  I  had  at  her  wedding  !" 


"  Lord  preserve  us  !" 


, 


"  Bigamy — wasn't  it  ? — after  our  little  nuptials  in  dream-land 
She  told  her  husband  all  about  it  at  the  wedding  breakfast,  and 

his  lordship  (she  married  the  Marquis  of )   begged  to  know 

the  extent  of  my  prerogatives.     I  was  sorry  to  confess  that  they 
did  not  interfere  very  particularly  with  his  /" 


BEWARE  OF   DOGS   AND   WALTZING, 


THE  birds  that  flew  over  County  Surrey  on  the  twelfth  of 
June,  1845,  looked  down  upon  a  scene  of  which  many  a  "  lord 

'  of  creation,"  travelling  only  by  the  roads,  might  well  have  envied 
them  the  seeing.  For,  ever  so  merry  let  it  be  within  the  lordly 
parks  of  England,  the  trees  that  look  over  the  ring  fence  upon 
the  world  without,  keep  their  countenance — aristocrats  that  they 
are  !  Round  and  round  Beckton  park  you  might  have  travelled 
that  sunny  day,  and  often  within  arrow-shot  of  its  hidden  and 
fairy  lawn,  and  never  suspected,  but  by  the  magnetic  tremor  in 
your  veins,  that  beautiful  women  were  dancing  near  by,  and 

.  "  marvellous  proper  men,"  more  or  less  enamored,  looking  on 
—every  pink  and  blue  girdle  a  noose  for  a  heart,  of  course,  and 
every  gay  waistcoat  a  victim  venturing  near  the  trap  (though 

I  this  last  is  mentioned  entirely  on  my  own  responsibility). 

But  what  have  we  to  do  with  the  unhappy  exiles  without  this 

|  pretty  Paradise  !  You  are  an  invited  guest,  dear  reader !  Pray 
walk  in  ! 

Did  you  ask  about  the  Becktons  ?     The  Becktons  are  people 
j  blessed  with  money  and  a  very  charming  acquaintance.     That  is 


172  A  MORNING  PARTY. 


enough  to  know  about  them.  Yet  stay  !  Sir  Thomas  was 
knighted  for  his  behavior  at  some  great  crisis  in  India  (for  he 
made  his  fortune  in  India) — and  Lady  Beckton  is  no  great  beauty, 
but  she  has  the  mania  of  getting  handsome  people  together,  and 
making  them  happier  than  belongs  properly  to  handsome  people's 
destiny.  And  this,  I  think,  must  suffice  for  a  first  introduction. 

The  lawn,  as  you  see,  has  the  long  portico  of  the  house  on  one 
side  of  it,  a  bend  of  the  river  on  two  other  sides,  and  a  thick 
shrubbery  on  the  fourth.  The  dancing-floor  is  in  the  centre, 
inlaid  at  the  level  of  the  smooth  sward,  and  it  is  just  now  vibrat 
ing  to  the  measured  step  of  the  mazurka — beautifully  danced,  we 
must  say ! 

And  now  let  me  point  out  to  you  the  persons  most  concerned  in 
this  gossip  of  mine. 

First,  the  ladies. 

Miss  Blakeney — (and  she  was  never  called  anything  but  Miss 
Blakeney — never  Kate,  or  Kitty,  or  Kathleen,  I  mean,  though 
her  name  was  Catherine) — Miss  Blakeney  is  that  very  stylish, 
very  striking,  very  magnificent  girl,  I  think  I  may  say,  with  the 
white  chip  hat  and  black  'feather.  Nobody  but  Miss  Blakeney 
could  venture  to  wear  just  the  dress  she  is  sporting,  but  she  must 
dash,  though  she  is  in  half-mourning,  and,  faith  !  there  is  nothing 
out  of  keeping,  artistically  speaking,  after  all.  A  white  dress  em 
broidered  with  black  flowers,  dazzling  white  shoulders  turned  over 
with  black  lace,  white  neck  and  forehead  (brilliantly  white),  waved 
over  and  kissed  by  luxuriant  black  ringlets  (brilliantly  black) ! 
And  very  white  temples  with  very  black  eyes,  and  very  white 
eyelids  with  long  black  lashes ;  and,  since  those  dazzling  white 
teeth  were  without  a  contrast,  there  hung  upon  her  neck  a  black 
cross  of  ebony.  And  now  we  have  put  her  in  black  and  white, 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING.  173 


where  she  will  "  stay  put."     Scripta  verla  manentj  saith  the 
cautionary  proverb. 

Here  and  there,  you  observe,  there  is  a  small  Persian  carpet 
spread  on  the  sward  for  those  who  like  to  lounge  and  look  at  the 
dancers,  and  though  a  score  of  people,  at  least,  are  availing  them 
selves  of  this  oriental  luxury,  no  one  looks  so  modestly  pretty, 
half-couched  on  the  richly-colored  woof,  as  that  simply-dressed 
blonde,  with  a  straw  hat  in  her  lap,  and  her  light  auburn  curls 
taking   their  saucy  will  of  her  blue-veined  neck  and  shoulders. 
That  lady's  plain  name  is  Mabel  Brown,  and,  like  yourself,  many 
persons  have  wished  to  change  it  for  her.     She  is  half-married, 
indeed,  to  several  persons  here  present,  for  there  is  ana  consent 
ing   party.      Mais   Vautre   ne  veut  pas,  as  a  French  novelist 
laments  it,  stating  a  similar  dilemma.     Meantime,  Miss  Brown  is 
the  adopted  sister  of  the  black  and  white  Miss  Blakeney. 
One  more  exercise  of  my  function  of  cicerone  ! 
Lying  upon  the  bank  of  the  river,  with  his  shoulder  against  that 
fine  oak,  and  apparently  deeply  absorbed  in  the  fate  of  the  acorn- 
cups  which   he  throws  into  the   current,  you  may  survey  the 
elegant  person  of  Mr.  Lindsay  Maud — a  gentleman  whom  I  wish 
you  to  take  for  rather  more  than  his  outer  seeming,  since  he  will 
show  you,  at  the  first  turn  of  his  head,  that  he  cares  nothing  for 
your  opinion,  though  entitled,  as  the  diplomatists  phrase  it,  to 
i  your  u  high  consideration."     Mr.  Maud  is  twenty-five,  more  or 
less — six  feet,   or   thereabouts.     He  has  the   sanguineous   tint, 
rather  odd  for  so  phlegmatic  a  person  as  he  seems.     His  nose  is 
un  petit  peu  retrousse ,  his  lips  full,  and  his  smile  easy  and  ready. 
His  eyes  are  like  the  surface  of  a  very  deep  well.     Curling  brown 
hair,  broad  and  calm  forehead,  merry  chin  with  a  dimple  in  it, 
and  mouth  expressive  of  great  good  humor,  and  quite  enough  of 


174  CALLED  TO  ACCOUNT. 


fastidiousness  If  this  is  not  your  beau  ideal,  I  am  very  sorry — 
but  experience  went  to  show  that  Lindsay  Maud  was  a  very 
agreeable  man,  and  pleased  generally  where  he  undertook  it. 

And  now,  if  you  please,  having  done  the  honors,  I  will  take  up 
the  story  en  simple  conteur. 

The  sky  was  beginning  to  blush  about  the  sun's  going  to  bed, 
and  the  dancers  and  archers  Avere  pairing  off,  couple  by  couple,  to 
stroll  and  cool  in  the  dim  shrubberies  of  Beckton  park.  It  was 
an  hour  to  breakfast,  so  called,  for  breakfast  was  to  be  served  in 
the  darker  edge  of  the  twilight.  With  the  afore-named  oak-tree 
between  him  and  the  gay  company,  Mr.  Lindsay  Maud  beguiled 
his  hunger  (for  hungry  he  was),  by  reading  a  volume  of  that  vei 
clever  novel,  "  Le  Pere  Goriot,"  and,  chapter  by  chapter,  h< 
cocked  up  his  ear,"  as  the  story-books  say,  hoping  to  hear  th< 
cheerful  bell  of  the  tower  announce  the  serving  of  the  soup  am 
champagne. 

"  Well,  Sir  Knight  Faineant!"  said  Lady  Beckton,  stepping 
in  suddenly  between  his  feet  and  the  river  brink,  "  since  whei 
have  you  turned  woman-hater,  and  enrolled  among  the  unavail- 
ables  ?  Here  have  you  lain  all  day  in  the  shade,  with  scores  of 
nice  girls  dancing  on  the  other  side  of  your  hermit  tree,  and  not 
sign  of  life — not  a  look  even  to  see  whether  my  party,  got  up  wit 
so  much  pains,  flourished  or  languished  !  I'll  cross  you  out  of 
little  book,  recreant !" 

Maud  Avas  by  this  time  on  his  feet,  and  he  penitently  and 
spectfully  kissed  the  fingers  threateningly  held  up  to  him — fc 
the  unpardonable  sin,  in  a  single  man,  is  to  appear  unamused, 
alone  failing  to  amuse  others — at  a  party  sworn  to  be  agreeable. 
"  I  have  but  half  an  apology,"  he  said,  "  that  of  knowing  tl 
your  parties  go  swimmingly  off,  whether  I  pnll  an  oar  or  no  ;  but 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING.  175 

I  deserve  not  the  less  to  be  crossed  out  of  your  book.  Something 
ails  me.  I  am  growing  old,  or  my  curiosity  has  burnt  out,  or  I 
am  touched  with  some  fatal  lethargy.  Upon  my  word,  I  would  as 
lief  listen  to  a  Latin  sermon  as  chat  for  the  next  half  hour  with 
the  prettiest  girl  at  Beckton  !  There's  no  inducement,  my  dear 
Lady  Beckton  !  I'm  not  a  marrying  man,  you  know,  and  flirta 
tion — flirtation  is  such  tiresome  repetition — endless  reading  of 
prefaces,  and  never  coming  to  the  agreeable  first  chapter.  But 
I'll  obey  orders.  Which  is  the  destitute  woman  ?  You  shall  see 
how  I  will  redeem  my  damaged  reputation  !" 

But  Lady  Beckton,  who  seldom  refused  an  offer  from  a  beau  to 
make  himself  useful  at  her  parties,  seemed  hardly  to  listen  to 
Maud's  justification.  She  placed  her  arm  in  his,  and  led  him 
across  the  bridge  which  spanned  the  river  a  little  above,  and  they 
were  presently  out  of  hearing  in  one  of  the  cool  and  shaded 
avenues  of  the  park. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thought !"  said  Maud,  after  walking  at  her 
side  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"  It  is  a  thought,  certainly,  in  which  pennies  are  concerned," 
replied  Lady  Beckton,  "  and  that  is  why  I  find  any  trouble  in 
giving  expression  to  it.  It  is  difficult  enough  to  talk  with  gentle 
men  about  love,  but  that  is  easy  to  talking  about  money." 

"  Yet  they  make  a  pretty  tandem,  money  on  the  lead  !" 

"  Oh  !  are  you  there  r"  exclaimed  Lady  Beckton,  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  I  was  beginning  too  far  back,  altogether !  My  dear  Lindsay, 
see  how  much  better  I  thought  of  you  than  you  deserved  !  I  was 
turning  over  in  my  mind,  with  great  trepidation  and  embarrass 
ment,  how  I  should  venture  to  talk  to  you  about  a  money-and-love 
match  !" 

"  Indeed  !  for  what  happy  man  r" 


176  A  WIFE  PROPOSED. 


a  Toi  meme,  man  ami  /'" 

"  Heavens  !  you  quite  take  away  my  breath  !  Spare  yourself 
the  overture,  my  dear  Lady  Beckton !  I  agree  !  I  am  quite 
ready — sold  from  this  hour  if  you  can  produce  a  purchaser,  and 
possession  given  immediately !" 

"  Now  you  go  too  fast ;  for  I  have  not  time  to  banter,  and  '. 
wish  to  see  my  way  in  earnest  before  I  leave  you.  Listen  to  me 
I  was  talking  you  over  with  Beckton  this  morning.  I'll  no* 
trouble  you  with  the  discussion  —  it  would  make  you  vain 
perhaps.  But  we  arrived  at  this :  Miss  Blakeney  would  be  2 
very  good  match  for  you,  and,  if  you  are  inclined  to  make  i 
demonstration  that  way,  why,  we  will  do  what  we  can  to  make  i 
plain  sailing.  Stay  with  us  a  week,  for  instance,  and  we  will  keej 
the  Blakeneys.  It'  a  sweet  month  for  pairing,  and  you  are  ar 
expeditious  love-maker,  I  know.  Is  it  agreed  ?" 

"  You  are  quite  serious  ?" 

"  Quite  !" 

"  I'll  go  back  with  you  to  the  bridge,  kindest  of  friends,  anc 
return  and  ramble  here  till  the  bell  rings  by  myself.  I'll  fin( 
you  at  table,  by-and-by,  and  express  my  gratitude  at  least.  Wil 
that  be  time  enough  for  an  answer  ?" 

"  Yes — but  no  ceremony  with  me  !  Stay  and  ponder  wher< 
you  are  !  Au  r avoir  !  I  must  see  after  my  breakfast !" 

And  away  tripped  the  kind-hearted  Lady  Beckton. 

Maud  resumed  his  walk.  He  was  rather  taken  aback.  H 
knew  Miss  Blakeney  but  as  a  waltzing  partner,  yet  that  should  b< 
but  little  matter ;  for  he  had  long  ago  made  up  his  mind  that,  i 
he  did  not  marry  rich,  he  could  not  marry  at  all. 

Maud  was  poor — that  is  to  say,  he  had  all  that  an  angel  woul 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING.  177 

uppose  necessary  in  this  hungry  and  cold  world — assurance  of 

ood  and  clothing — in  other  words,  three  hundred  a  year.     He 

.ad  had  his  unripe  time  like  other  youths,  in  which  he  was  ready 

o  marry  for  love  and  no  money  ;   but  his  timid  advances  at  that 

oft  period  had  not  been  responsibly  met  by  his  first  course  of 

i  weethearts,  and  he  had  congratulated  himself  and  put  a  price 

•  ipon  his  heart  accordingly.     Meantime,  he  thought,  the  world  is 

i,  very  entertaining  place,  and  the  belonging  to  nobody  in  par- 

licular  has  its  little  advantages. 

And   very  gayly  sped  on  the   second   epoch  of  Mr.  Lindsay 
Maud's  history.     He  lived  in  a  country  where,  to  shine  in  a  pro 
fession  requires  the  "  audacey  patience  et  volonte  de  quoi  renverser 
'.  le  mondef  and,  having  turned  his  ambition  well  about,  like  a  strange 
coin  that  might  perhaps  have  passed  current  in  other  times,  he  laid 
it  away,  with  romance  and  chivalry,  and  other  things  suited  only 
to  the  cabinets  of  the  curious.     He  was  well  born,  he  was  well 
!  bred.     He  was  a  fair  candidate  for  the  honors  of  a  "  gay  man 
about  town" — that  untaxed  exempt — that  guest  by  privilege — 
irresponsible  denizen  of  high  life,   possessed  of  every  luxury  on 
earth  except  matrimony  and  the  pleasures  of  payment.     And, 
for  a  year  or  two,  this  was  very  delightful.      He  had  a  half 
.  dozen  of  those  charming  female  friendships  which,  like    other 
ephemera  in  this  changing  world,  must  die  or  turn  into  something 
else  at  the  close  of  a  season,  and,  if  this  makes  the  feelings  very 
i  hard,  it  makes  the  manners  very  soft ;  and  Maud  was  content  with 
'  the  compensation.     If  he  felt,  now  and  then,  that  he  was  idling 
:  life  away,  he  looked  about  him  and  found  countenance  at  least ; 
for  all  his  friends  were  as  idle,  and  there  was  an  analogy  to  his 
condition  in  nature  (if  need  were  to  find  one),  for  the  butterfly 


178  MENTAL  HISTORY  OF  A  BEAU. 


had  his  destiny  like  the  bee,  and   was   neither  pitied  nor  re 
proached  that  he  was  not  a  honey-maker. 

But  Maud  was  now  in  a  third  lustrum  of  his  existence,  and  it 
was  tinted  somewhat  differently  from  the  rose-colored  epochs  pr( 
cedent.  The  twilight  of  satisfied  curiosity  had  fallen  imper 
ceptibly  around  him.  The  inner  veils  of  society  had,  one  by  one, 
lifted,  and  there  could  be  nothing  new  for  his  eye  in  the  world 
which  he  belonged. 

A  gay  party,  which  was  once  to  him  as  full  of  unattained  ol 
jects  as  the  festal  mysteries  of  Eleusinia  to  a  rustic  worshippt 
of  Ceres,  was  now  as  readable  at  a  glance  as  the  stripes  of 
backgammon-board.      He   knew   every   man's    pretensions   ane 
chances,    every   woman's   expectations   and   defences.      Not 
damsel  whose  defects  he  had  not  discovered,  whose  mind  he 
not  sounded,  whose    dowry  he   did  not  know  ;   not   a  beauty 
married  or   single,   whose  nightly  game  in  society  he  could  nc 
perfectly  foretell ;  not  an  affection  unoccupied  of  which  he  coulc 
not  put  you  down  the  cost  of  engaging   it  in  your  favor,  tl 
chances  of  constancy,  the  dangers  of  following  or  abandoning. 
He  had  no   stake  in  society,  meantime,  yet  society  itself  was  all 
his  world.     He  had  no  ambitions  to  further  by  its  aid.     And, 
until  now,  he  had  looked  on  matrimony  as  a  closed  door — for 
had  neithci  property,  nor  profession  likely  to  secure  it,  and  cii 
cumstances  like  these,  in  the  rank  in  which  he  moved,  are  coi 
prehended  among  the  "any  impediments."     To  have  his 
way,  Maud  would  have  accepted  no  invitations  except  to  dine 
with  the  beaux  esprits,  and  he  would  have  concentrated  the  re 
mainder  of  his  leisure  and  attentions  upon  one  agreeable  woman 
(at  a   time) — two  selfishnesses  very  attractive   to  a   blase,  but 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING.  179 


hi  >t  permitted  to  any  member  of  society  short  of  a  Duke  or  a 
p<  rcesus. 

And  now,  with  a  new  leaf  turning  over  in  his  dull  book  of  life 
— a  morning  of  a  new  day  breaking  on  his  increasing  night — 
I  indsay  Maud  tightly  screwed  his  arms  across  his  breast,  and 
j  aced  the  darkening  avenue  of  Beckton  Park.  The  difference 
1 3tween  figuring  as  a  fortune-hunter,  and  having  a  fortune  hunted 
''for  him  by  others,  he  perfectly  understood.  In  old  and  aris 
tocratic  societies,  where  wealth  is  at  the  same  time  so  much  more 
coveted  and  so  much  more  difficult  to  win,  the  eyes  of  "  envy, 
malice,  and  all  uncharitableness,"  are  alike  an  omnipresent  Argus, 
in  their  watch  over  the  avenues  to  its  acquisition.  No  step,  the 
slightest,  the  least  suspicious,  is  ever  taken  toward  the  hand  of  an 
heiress,  or  the  attainment  of  an  inheritance,  without  the  awakening 
and  counter-working  of  these  busy  monsters  ;  and,  for  a  society- 
man,  better  to  be  a  gambler  or  seducer,  better  to  have  all  the 
fashionable  vices  ticketed  on  his  name,  than  to  stand  affiched  as  a 
fortune-hunter.  If  to  have  a  fortune  cleverly  put  within  reach  by 
a  powerful  friend,  however,  be  a  proportionate  beatitude,  blessed 
was  Maud.  So  thought  he,  at  least,  as  the  merry  bell  of  Beckton 
tower  sent  its  summons  through  the  woods,  and  his  revery  gave 
,  place  to  thoughts  of  something  more  substantial. 

And  thus  far,  oh  adorable  reader  !  (for  I  see  what  unfathom 
able  eyes  are  looking  over  my  shoulder)  thus  far,  like  an  artist 
making  a  sketch,  of  which  one  part  is  to  be  finished,  I  have  dwelt 
a  little  on  the  touches  of  my  pencil.  But.  by  those  same  unfathom 
able  eyes  I  know  (for  in  those  depths  dwell  imagination),  that,  if  the 
remainder  be  done  ever  so  lightly  in  outline,  even  then  there  will 
be  more  than  was  needed  for  the  comprehension  of  the  story. 
Thy  ready  and  boundless  fancy,  sweet  lady,  would  supply  it  all. 


180  BRINGING  LOVERS  TOGETHER.1 


- 


L*   ui 

- 


Given,  the  characters  and  scene,  what  fair  creature  who  has 
loved,  could  fail  to  picture  forth  the  sequel  and  its  more  minute 
surroundings,  with  rapidity  and  truth  daguerreotypical  ? 

Sketchily,  then,  touch  we  the  unfinished  denouement  of  o 
story. 

The  long  saloon  was  already  in  glittering  progress  when  Maud 
entered.  The  servants  in  their  blue  and  white  liveries  were 
gliding  rapidly  about,  with  the  terrestrial  nutriment  for  eyes 
celestial — to  wit,  wines  and  oysters. 

Half  blinded  with  the  glare  of  the  numberless  lights,  he  stood  a 
moment  at  the  door. 

"  Lady  Beckton's  compliments,  and  she  has  reserved  a  seat 
you !"  said  a  footman  approaching  him. 

He  glanced  at  the  head  of  the  table.  The  vacant  chair 
was  near  Lady  Beckton  and  opposite  Miss  Blakeney.  "  Is 
a  vis-a-vis  better  for  love-making  than  a  seat  at  the  lady's  ear  ?" 
thought  Maud.  But  Lady  Beckton's  tactics  were  to  spare  his 
ear  and  dazzle  his  eye,  without  reference  especially  to  the  cor 
responding  impressions  on  the  eyes  and  ear  of  the  lady.  And 
she  had  the  secondary  object  of  avoiding  any  betrayal  of  her 
designs  till  they  were  too  far  matured  to  be  defeated 
publicity. 

u  Can  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Maud,"  said  the  sweet  voice 
Mabel  Brown,  as  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  table,  "  what 
the  secret  of  Lady  Beckton's  putting  you  next  me  so  per 
naciously  ?" 

"  A  greater  regard  for  my  happiness  than  yours,  probably 
said  Maud ;  "but  why  '  pertinaciously  ?'  Has  there  been 
skirmish  for  this  particular  chair  ?'r 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING. 


"  No  skirmish,  but  three  attempts  at  seizure  by  three  of  my 
:a  inirers. 

"  If  they  admire  you  more  than  I,  they  are  fitter  companions 
f(  p  a  tete-a-tete  than  a  crowded  party,"  said  Maud.  "  I  am  as 
n  ar  a  lover  as  I  can  be,  and  be  agreeable  !" 

To  this  Maud  expected  the  gay  retort  due  to  a  bagatelle  of 

ligiUantry;  but  the  pretty  Mabel  was  silent.     The  soup   disap 

peared  and  the  entremets  were  served.     Maud  was  hungry,   and 

h(j  had  sent  a  cutlet  and  a  glass  of  Johannisberg  to  the  clamorous 

quarter  before  he  ventured  to  look  toward  his  hostess. 

He  felt  her  eyes  upon  him.  A  covert  smile  stole  through  her 
lips  as  they  exchanged  glances. 

"  Yes  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  meaning  look. 

"  Yes  !» 

e 
And,  in  that  dialogue  of  two  monosyllables,  Lady  Beckton  pre 

sumed  that  the  hand  and  five  thousand  a  year  of  Miss  Catherine 
Blakeney,  were  virtually  made  over  to  Mr.  Lindsay  Maud.  And 
her  diplomacy  made  play  to  that  end,  without  farther  deli 
beration. 

Very  unconscious  indeed  that  she  was  under  the  eye  of  the 
man  who  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to  become  her  husband, 
Miss  Blakeney  sat  between  a  guardsman  and  a  diplomatist,  carry 
ing  on  the  war  in  her  usual  trenchant  and  triumphant  fashion. 
She  looked  exceedingly  handsome—  that  Maud  could  not  but 
fidmit.  With  no  intention  of  becoming  responsible  for  her  man 
ners,  he  would  even  have  admired,  as  he  often  had  done,  her 
skilful  coquetries  and  adroit  displays  of  the  beauty  with  which 
nature  had  endowed  her.  She  succeeded,  Maud  thought,  in 
giving  both  of  her  admirers  the  apparent  preference  (apparent  to 
themselves,  that  is  to  say),  and,  considering  her  vis-a-vis  worth  a 


182  TACTICS. 


chance  shaft  at  least,  she  honored  that  very  attentive  gentlemai 
with  such  occasional  notice,  as,  under  other  circumstances,  woul< 
have  been  far  from  disagreeable.  It  might  have  worn  a  bette 
grace,  however,  coming  from  simple  Miss  Blakeney.  From  th 
future  Mrs.  Lindsay  Maud,  he  could  have  wished  those  pretty 
inveiglements  very  much  reduced  and  modified. 

At  his  side,  the  while,  sweet  Mabel  Brown  carried  on  with  hie 
a  conversation,  which,  to  the  high  tone  of  merriment  opposite,  wa 
like  the  intermitted  murmur  of  a  brook  heard  in  the  pauses  o 
merry  instruments.  At  the  same  time  that  nothing  brilliant  o 
gay  seemed  to  escape  her  notice,  she  toned  her  own  voice  an 
flow  of  thought,  so  winningly  below  the  excitement  around  hei 
that  Maud,  who  was  sensible  of  every  indication  of  superiorit 
could  not  but  pay  her  a  silent  tribute  of  admiration.  "If  th 
were  but  the  heiress !"  he  ejaculated  inwardly.  But  Mab( 
Brown  was  a  dependant. 
Coffee  was  served. 
The  door  at  the  end  of  the  long  saloon  was  suddenly  throw 
open,  and,  as  every  eye  turned  to  gaze  into  the  blazing  bal 
room,  a  march,  with  the  full  power  of  the  band,  burst  upo 
the  ear. 

The  diplomatist  who  had  been  sitting  at  the  side  of  Mi* 
Blakeney  was  a  German,  and  a  waltzer  comme  il  y  en  a  pcu.  A 
the  bidding  of  Lady  Beckton,  he  put  his  arm  around  the  waist 
the  heiress,  and  bore  her  away  to  the  delicious  music  of  Straus 
and,  by  general  consent,  the  entire  floor  was  left  to  this  pair  for 
dozen  circles.  Miss  Blakeney  was  passionately  fond  of  waltzing 
and  built  for  it,  like  a  Baltimore  clipper  for  running  close  to  tl 
wind.  If  she  had  a  fault  that  her  friends  were  afraid  to  jog  h 
memory  about,  it  was  the  wearing  her  dresses  a  flounce  too  shor 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING.  183 


!  Her  feet  and  ankles  were  Fenella's  own,  while  her  figure  and 
'  breezy  motion  would  have  stolen  Endjmion  from  Diana.  She 
waltzed  too  well  for  a  lady — all  but  well  enough  for  a  premiere 
danseuse  de  V opera.  Lady  Beckton  was  a  shrewd  woman,  but 
she  made  a  mistake  in  crying  "  encore  .'"  when  this  single  couple 
stopped  from  their  admired  pas  de  deux.  She  thought  Maud  was 
just  the  man  to  be  captivated  by  that  display.  But  the  future 
Mrs.  Lindsay  Maud  must  not  have  ankles  for  general  admiration. 
Oh,  no ! 

Maud  wished  to  efface  the  feeling  this  exhibition  had  caused,  by 
sharing  in  the  excitement. 

"  Miss  Brown,"  he  said,  as  two  or  three  couples  went  off", 
"permit  me  the  happiness  of  one  turn  !"  and,  scarce  waiting  for 
an  answer,  he  raised  his  arm  to  encircle  her  waist. 

Mabel  took  his  hands,  and  playfully  laid  them  across  each 
other  on  his  own  breast  in  an  attitude  of  resignation. 

"  I  never  waltz,"  she  said.  "  But  don't  think  me  a  prude ! 
I  don't  consider  it  wrong  in  those  who  think  it  right." 

"  But  with  this  music  tugging  at  your  heels  !"  said  Maud,  who 
did  not  care  to  express  how  much  he  admired  the  delicacy  of  her 
distinction. 

"  Ah,  with  a  husband  or  a  brother,  I  should  think  one  could 
scarce  resist  bounding  away ;  but  I  cannot — " 

"  Cannot  what  ? — cannot  take   me  for   either  ?"  interrupted 
;  Maud,  with  an  air  of  affected  malice  that  covered  a  very  strong 
desire  to  ask  the  question  in  earnest. 

She  turned  her  eyes  suddenly  upon  him  with  a  rapid  look  of 
;  inquiry,  and,  slightly  coloring,  fixed  her  attention  silently  on  the 
waltzers. 


184  YES,  MEANING  NO. 


Lady  Beckton  came,  making  her  way  through  the  crowd.  She 
touched  Maud  on  the  arm. 

"  '  Hold  hook  and  line  !' — is  it  not  ?"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

After  an  instant's  hesitation,  Maud  answered,  "  Yes !" — but 
pages,  often,  would  not  suffice  to  express  all  that  passes  through 
the  mind  in  "  an  instant's  hesitation."  All  Lindsay  Maud's 
prospects  and  circumstances  were  reviewed  in  that  moment ;  all 
his  many  steps  by  which  he  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
marriage  with  him  must  be  a  matter  of  convenience  merely ;  all  his 
put-down  impulses  and  built-up  resolutions  ;  all  his  regrets,  con 
solations,  and  offsets  ;  all  his  better  and  worser  feelings  ;  all  his 
former  loves  (and  in  that  connexion,  strangely  enough,  Mabel 
Brown) ;  all  his  schemes,  in  short,  for  smothering  his  pain  in  the 
sacrifice  of  his  heart,  and  making  the  most  of  the  gain  to  his 
pocket,  passed  before  him  in  that  half  minute's  review.  But  he 
said"  Yes!" 

The  Blakeney  carriage  was  dismissed  that  night,  with  orders  to 
bring  certain  dressing-maids,  and  certain  sequents  of  that  useful 
race,  on  the  following  morning,  to  Beckton  Park,  and  the  three 
persons  who  composed  the  Blakeney  party,  an  old  aunt,  Miss 
Blakeney,  and  Mabel  Brown,  went  quietly  to  bed  under  the  hos 
pitable  roof  of  Lady  Beckton. 

How  describe  (and  what  need  of  it,  indeed!)  a  week  at  an 

English  country-house,  with  all  its  age  of  chances  for  loving  and 

hating,  its  eternity  of  opportunities  for  all  that  hearts  can  have  to 

regulate  in  this  shorthand  life  of  ours  ?     Let  us  come  at  once  to 

,  the  closing  day  of  this  visit. 

Maud  lay  late  abed  on  the  day  that  the  Blakeneys  were  to 
leave  Beckton  Park.  Fixed  from  morning  till  night  in  the  firm 
resolution  at  which  he  had  arrived  with  so  much  trouble  and  self- 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING. 


control,  he  was  dreaming  from  night  till  morning  of  a  felicity  in 
which  Miss  Blakeney  had  little  share.  He  wished  the  marriage 
could  be  all  achieved  in  the  signing  of  a  bond.  He  found  that  he 
had  miscalculated  his  philosophy,  in  supposing  that  he  could 
venture  to  loose  thought  and  revery  upon  the  long-forbidden  sub 
ject  of  marriage.  In  all  the  scenes  eternally  being  conjured  up 
to  his  fancy — scenes  of  domestic  life — the  bringing  of  Miss  Blake 
ney  into  the  picture  was  an  after  effort.  Mabel  Brown  stole  into 
it,  spite  of  himself — the  sweetest  and  dearest  feature  of  that 
enchanting  picture,  in  its  first  warm  coloring  by  the  heart.  But, 
day  by  day,  he  took  the  place  assigned  him  by  Lady  Beckton  at 
the  side  of  Miss  Blakeney,  riding,  driving,  dining,  strolling,  with 
reference  to  being  near  her  only,  and,  still,  scarce  an  hour  could 
pass  in  which,  spite  of  all  effort  to  the  contrary,  he  did  not  betray 
his  passionate  interest  in  Mabel  Brown. 

He  arose  and  breakfasted.  Lady  Beckton  and  the  young 
ladies  were  bonnetted  and  ready  for  a  stroll  in  the  park  woods, 
and  her  Ladyship  came  and  whispered  in  Maud's  ear,  as  he  leaned 
over  his  coffee,  that  he  must  join  them  presently,  and  that  she 
had  prepared  Miss  Blakeney  for  an  interview  with  him,  which 
she  would  arrange  as  they  rambled. 

"  Take  no  refusal !"  were  her  parting  words  as  she  stepped  out 
upon  the  verandah. 

Maud  strolled  leisurely  towards  the  rendezvous  indicated  by 
Lady  Beckton.  He  required  all  the  time  he  could  get  to  confirm 
his  resolutions  and  recover  his  usual  maintien  of  repose.  With 
his  mind  made  up  at  last,  and  a  face  in  which  few  would  have 
j  read  the  heart  in  fetters  beneath,  he  jumped  a  wicker-fence,  and, 
by  a  cross-path,  brought  the  ladies  in  view.  They  were  walking 
separately,  but,  as  his  footsteps  were  heard,  Lady  Beckton  slipped 


186  A  DOG  FOR  A  GOOD  ANGEL. 


her  arm  into  Miss  Brown's,  and  commenced,  apparently,  a  very 
earnest  undertone  of  conversation.  Miss  Blakeney  turned.  Hei 
face  glowed  with  exercise,  and  Maud  confessed  to  himself  that  he 
rarely  had  seen  so  beautiful  a  woman. 

"  You  are  come  in  time,  Mr.  Maud,"  she  said,  "  for  some 
thing  is  going  on  between  my  companions  from  which  I  air 
excluded." 

"  En  revanche,  suppose  we  have  our  little  exclusive  secret!' 
said  Maud,  offering  his  arm. 

Miss  Blakeney  colored  slightly,  and  consented  to  obey  th 
slight  resistance  of  his  arm,  by  which  they  fell  behind.  A  silence 
of  a  few  moments  followed,  for,  if  the  proposed  secret  were  a  pro 
posal  of  marriage,  it  had  been  too  bluntly  approached.  Mauc 
felt  that  he  must  once  more  return  to  indifferent  topics,  and  leac 
on  the  delicate  subject  at  his  lips  with  more  tact  and  preparation 

They  ascended  a  slight  elevation  in  the  walk  which  overlooked  th( 
wilder  confines  of  the  park.  A  slight  smoke  rose  from  a  clump  o 
trees,  indicating  an  intrusion  of  gipsies  within,  and,  the  ner 
instant,  a  deep-mouthed  bark  rang  out  before  them,  and  the  twc 
ladies  came  rushing  back  in  violent  terror,  assailed  at  every  step 
of  their  flight  by  a  powerful  and  infuriated  mastiff.  Maud  ran 
forward  immediately,  and  succeeded  in  driving  the  dog  back  tc 
the  tents ;  but,  on  his  return,  he  found  only  the  terrified  Mabel 
who,  leaning  against  a  tree,  and  partly  recovered  from  her  breath 
less  flight,  was  quietly  awaiting  him. 

u  Here  is  a  change  of  partners  as  my  heart  would  have  it !' 
thought  Maud,  as  he  drew  her  slight  arm  within  his  own.  "  Th< 
transfer  looks  to  me  like  the  interposition  of  my  good  angel,  and  ] 
accept  the  warning!" 

And,  in  words  that  needed  no  management  to  bring  them  skil- 


BEWARE  OF  DOGS  AND  WALTZING.  187 


fully  on — with  the  eloquence  of  a  heart  released  from  fetters  all 
but  intolerable,  and  from  a  threatened  slavery  for  life — Lindsay 
Maud  poured  out  the  fervent  passion  of  his  heart  to  Mabel 
Brown.  The  crust  of  a  selfish  and  artificial  life  broke  up  in  the 
tumult  of  that  declaration,  and  he  found  himself  once  more 
natural  and  true  to  the  instincts  and  better  impulses  of  his  cha 
racter.  He  was  met  with  the  trembling  response  that  such  pure 
love  looks  for  when  it  finds  utterance,  and,  without  a  thought  of 
worldly  calculation,  or  a  shadow  of  a  scheme  for  their  means  and 
manner  of  life,  they  exchanged  promises  to  which  the  subsequent 
ceremony  of  marriage  was  but  the  formal  seal. 

And,  at  the  announcement  of  this  termination  to  her  matri 
monial  schemes,  Lady  Beckton  seemed  much  more  troubled  than 
Miss  Blakeney. 

But  Lady  Beckton's  disappointment  was  somewhat  modified 
when  she  discovered  that  Miss  Blakeney  had,  long  before,  secretly 
endowed  her  adopted  sister  Mabel  with  the  half  of  her  fortune. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL, 


PART    I. 

"  Un  homme  capable  de  faire  des  dominos  avec  les  os  de  son  pere." — PERE  GORIOT. 

IT  was  in  the  golden  month  of  August,  not  very  long  ago,  that 
the  steamer  which  plies  between  St.  Mark's  Stairs,  at  Venice, 
and  the  river  into  which  Phaeton  turned  a  somerset  with  the 
horses  of  the  sun,  started  on  its  course  over  the  lagoon  with  an 
unusual  God-send  of  passengers.  The  moon  was  rising  from  the 
unchaste  bed  of  the  Adriatic  (wedded  every  year  to  Venice,  yet 
every  day  and  night  sending  the  sun  and  moon  from  her  lovely 
bosom  to  the  sky),  and  while  the  gold  of  the  west  was  still  glow 
ing  on  the  landward  side  of  the  Campanile,  a  silver  gleam  was 
brightening  momently  on  the  other,  and  the  Arabic  domes  of 
St.  Mark,  and  the  flying  Mercury  on  the  Dogana,  paled  to  the  set 
ting  orb  and  kindled  to  the  rising,  with  the  same  Talleyrand- 
esque  facility. 

For  the  first  hour  the  Mangia-foco  sputtered  on  her  way  with 
a  silent  company  ;  the  poetry  of  the  scene,  or  the  regrets  at  leav 
ing  the  delicious  city  lessening  in  the  distance,  affecting  all  alike 
with  a  thoughtful  incommunicativeness.  Gradually,  however, 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  189 


ie  dolphin  hues  over  the  Brenta  faded  away — the  marble  city 
;  ink  into  the  sea,  with  its  turrets  and  bright  spires — the  still  la- 
I  oon  became  a  sheet  of  polished  glass — and  the  silent  groups  lean- 
:  ig  over  the  rails  found  tongues  and  feet,  and  began  to  stir  and 
1  rarmur. 

With  the  usual  unconscious  crystallization  of  society,  the  pas- 
g  3ngers  of  the  Mangia-foco  had  yielded  one  side  of  the  deck  to  a 
j  arty  of  some  rank,  who  had  left  their  carriages  at  Ferrara,  in 
coming  from  Florence  to  Venice,  and  were  now  upon  their  return 
to  the  city  of  Tasso,  stomaching,  with  what  grace  they  might, 
the  contact  of  a  vulgar  conveyance  which  saved  them  the  hun- 
idred  miles  of  posting  between  Ferrara  and  the  Brenta.  In  the 
i  centre  of  the  aristocratic  circle  stood  a  lady  enveloped  in  a  cash 
mere,  but  with  her  bonnet  hung  by  the  string  over  her  arm — one 
of  those  women  of  Italy  upon  whom  the  divinest  gifts  of  loveliness 
i  are  showered  with  a  profusion  which  apparently  impoverishes  the 
|  sex  of  the  whole  nation.  A  beautiful  woman  in  that  land  is 
rarely  met ;  but  when  she  does  appear,  she  is  what  Venus  would 
have  been,  after  the  contest  for  beauty  on  Ida,  had  the  weapons  of 
!  her  antagonists,  as  in  the  tournaments  of  chivalry,  been  added  to 
the  palm  of  victory.  The  Marchesa  del  Marmore  was  apparently 
i  twenty-three,  and  she  might  have  been  an  incarnation  of  the 
morning-star  for  pride  and  brightness. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  deck  stood  a  group  of  young  men,  who, 
by  their  careless  and  rather  shabby  dress,  but  pale  and  intel 
lectual  faces,  were  of  that  class  met  in  every  public  conveyance 
'  of  Italy.  The  portfolios  under  their  arms,  ready  for  a  sketch, 
,  would  have  removed  a  doubt  of  their  profession,  had  one  existed ; 
and,  with  that  proud  independence  for  which  the  class  is  remarka 
ble,  they  had  separated  themselves  equally  from  the  noble  and 


190  STEALING  A  PORTRAIT. 


ignoble — disqualified  by  inward  superiority  from  association  with, 
the  one,  and  by  accidental  poverty  from  the  claims  cultivation 
might  give  them  upon  the  other.  Their  glances  at  the  divine 
face  turned  toward  them  from  the  party  I  have  alluded  to,  were 
less  constant  than  those  of  the  vulgar,  who  could  not  offend  ;  but 
they  were  evidently  occupied  more  with  it  than  with  the  fishing- 
boats  lying  asleep  on  the  lagoon  :  and  one  of  them,  half-buried  in 
the  coil  of  a  rope,  and  looking  under  the  arm  of  another,  had 
already  made  a  sketch  of  her  that  might  some  day  make  the 
world  wonder  from  what  seventh  heaven  of  fancy  such  an  angelic 
vision  of  a  head  had  descended  upon  the  painter's  dream. 

In  the  rear  of  this  group,  with  the  air  of  one  who  would  conceal 
himself  from  view,  stood  a  young  man  who  belonged  to  the  party, 
but  who,  with  less  of  the  pallor  of  intellectual  habits  in  his  face, 
was  much  better  dressed  than  his  companions,  and  had,  in  spite 
of  the  portfolio  under  his  arm,  and  a  hat  of  the  Salvator  breadth 
of  brim,  the  undisguisable  air  of  a  person  accustomed  to  the  best 
society.  While  maintaining  a  straggling  conversation  with  his 
friends,  with  whom  he  seemed  a  favorite,  Signor  Basil  employed 
himself  in  looking  over  the  sketch  of  the  lovely  Marchesa  going 
on  at  his  elbow — occasionally,  as  if  to  compare  it  with  the  origi 
nal,  stealing  a  long  look,  from  between  his  hand  and  his  slouched 
hat,  at  the  radiant  creature  sitting  so  unconsciously  for  her  picture, 
and  in  a  low  voice  correcting,  as  by  the  result  of  his  gaze,  the 
rapid  touches  of  the  artist. 

"  Take  a  finer  pencil  for  the  nostril,  caro  mio !"  said  he ; 
"it  is  as  thin  as  the  edge  of  a  violet,  and  its  transparent 
curve " 

"  Cospetto  !"  said  the  youth  ;  but  you  see  by  this  faint  ligh 
better  than  I :  if  she  would  but  turn  to  the  moon ' 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  191 


The  Signer  Basil  suddenly  flung  his  handkerchief  into  the 
igoon,  bringing  its  shadow  between  the  Queen  of  Night  and  the 
/larchcsa  del  Marmore ;  and,  attracted  from  her  revery  by  the 
assing  object,  the  lady  moved  her  head  quickly  to  the  light,  and, 
a  that  moment,  the  spirited  lip  and  nostril  were  transferred  to 
he  painter's  sketch. 

"  Thanks,  mio  bravo  !"  enthusiastically  exclaimed  the  looker- 
<  n  ;  "  Giorgione  would  not  have  beaten  thee  with  the  crayon  !" 
j,nd,  with  a  rudeness  which  surprised  the  artist,  he  seized  the 
paper  from  beneath  his  hand,  and  walked  away  with  it  to  the 
stern,  and,  leaning  far  over  the  rails,  perused  it  fixedly  by  the  mel 
low  lustre  of  the  moon.  The  youth  presently  followed  him,  and, 
after  a  few  words  exchanged  in  an  undertone,  Signor  Basil  slipped 
a  piece  of  gold  into  his  hand,  and  carefully  placed  the  sketch  in 
his  own  portfolio. 


II. 

It  was  toward  midnight  when  the  Mangia-foco  entered  the 
Adige,  and  keeping  its  steady  way  between  the  low  banks  of  the 
river,  made  for  the  grass-grown  and  flowery  canal  which  connects 
its  waters  with  the  Po.  Most  of  the  passengers  had  yielded  to 
the  drowsy  influence  of  the  night  air,  and,  of  the  aristocratic 
party  on  the  larboard  side,  the  young  Marchesa  alone  was  waking  : 
|her  friends  had  made  couches  of  their  cloaks  and  baggage,  and 
i  were  reclining  at  her  feet,  while  the  artists,  all  except  the  Signor 
'Basil,  were  stretched  fairly  on  the  deck,  their  portfolios  beneath 
their  heads,  and  the  large  hats  covering  their  faces  from  the 
powerful  rays  of  the  moon. 

"  Miladi  does  justice  to  the  beauty  of  the  night,"  said  the 


192  A.  STOLEN  PORTRAIT. 


OU3 

: 

,;i: 


waking  artist,  iu  a  low  and  respectful  tone,  as  he  rose  fron 
her  feet  with  a  cluster  of  tuberoses  she  had  let  fall  from  he 
hand. 

"  It  is  indeed  lovely,  Signor  pittore,"  responded  the  Marchesa 
glancing  at  his  portfolio,  and  receiving  the  flowers  with  a  gracious 
inclination  ;    u  have    you  touched  Venice   from  the    lagoon 
night  ?" 

The  Signor  Basil  opened  his  portfolio,  and  replied  to  the  indi 
rect  request  of  the  lady  by  showing  her  a  very  indifferent  sketch 
of  Venice  from  the  island  of  St.  Lazzaro.  As  if  to  escape  fron 
the  necessity  of  praising  what  had  evidently  disappointed  her,  sh< 
turned  the  cartoon  hastily,  and  exposed,  on  the  sheet  beneath 
the  spirited  and  admirable  outline  of  her  own  matchless  features 

A  slight  start  alone  betrayed  the  surprise  of  the  high-born  lady 
and,  raising  the  cartoon  to  examine  it  more  closely,  she  said  with 
a  smile,  "  You  may  easier  tread  on  Titian's  heels  than  Cana- 
letti's.  Bezzuoli  has  painted  me,  and  not  so  well.  I  will  awake 
the  Marquis,  and  he  shall  purchase  it  of  you." 

"  Not  for  the  wealth  of  the  Medici,  madam  !"  said  the  young 
man,  clasping  his  portfolio  hastily,  "  pray,  do  not  disturb  mo: 
signore  !     The  picture  is  dear  to  me  !" 

The  Marchesa,  looking  into  his  face,  with  a  glance  aro 
which  the  accomplished  courtier  before  her  read  better  than  she 
dreamed,  drew  her  shawl  over  her  blanched  shoulders,  and 
settled  herself  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  her  new  acquaint 
ance. 

"  You  would  be  less  gracious  if  you  were  observed,  proud 
beauty,"  thought  Basil ;  "  but,  while  you  think  the  poor  painter 
may  while  away  the  tediousness  of  a  vigil,  he  may  feed  his  eyes 
on  your  beauty  as  well." 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  193 


The  Mangia-foco  turned  into  the  canal,  threaded  its  lily-paved 
•atefS  for  a  mile  or  two,  and  then,  putting  forth  upon  the  broad 
osom  of  the  Po,  went  on  her  course  against  the  stream,  and, 
^  ith  retarded  pace,  penetrated  toward  the  sun-beloved  heart  of 
;  fcaly.  And  while  the  later  hours  performed  their  procession 
T  ith  the  stars,  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore  leaned  sleepless  and 
i  nfatigued  against  the  railing,  listening  with  mingled  curiosity 
i  nd  scorn  to  the  passionate  love-murmur  of  the  enamored  painter. 
His  hat  was  thrown  aside,  his  fair  and  curling  locks  were  flowing 
in  the  night  air,  his  form  was  bent  earnestly  but  respectfully 
toward  her,  and  on  his  lip,  with  all  its  submissive  tenderness, 
there  sat  a  shadow  of  something  she  could  not  define,  but  which 
rebuked,  ever  and  anon,  as  with  the  fierce  regard  of  a  noble,  the 
condescension  she  felt  toward  him  as  an  artist. 


III. 

Upon  the  lofty  dome  of  the  altar  in  the  cathedral  of  Bologna 
stands  poised  an  angel  in  marble,  not  spoken  of  in  the  books  of 
travellers,  but  perhaps  the  loveliest  incarnation  of  a  blessed 
cherub  that  ever  lay  in  the  veined  bosoni  of  Pentelicus.  Lost 
and  unobserved  on  the  vast  floor  of  the  nave,  the  group  of  artists, 
who  had  made  a  day's  journey  from  Ferrara,  sat  in  the  wicker 
chairs,  hired  for  a  baioch  during  the  vesper,  and  drew  silently 
from  this  angel,  while  the  devout  people  of  Bologna  murmured 
their  Ave  Marias  around.  Signer  Basil  alone  was  content  to  look 
over  the  work  of  his  companions,  and  the  twilight  had  already 
begun  to  brighten  the  undying  lamps  at  the  shrine,  when  he 
started  from  the  pillar  against  which  he  leaned,  and  crossed  hastily 
toward  a  group  issuing  from  a  private  chapel  in  the  western  aisle. 


194  A  SLIGHT 


A  lady  walked  between  two  gentlemen  of  noble  mien,  and  behind 
her,  attended  by  an  equally  distinguished  company,  followed  that 
lady's  husband,  the  Marchese  del  Marmore.  They  were  strangers 
passing  through  Bologna,  and  had  been  attended  to  vespers  by 
some  noble  friends. 

The  companions  of  the  Signer  Basil  looked  on  with  some  sur 
prise  as  their  enamored  friend  stepped  confidently  before  the  two 
nobles  in  attendance  upon  the  lady,  and  arrested  her  steps  with  a 
salutation  which,  though  respectful  as  became  a  gentleman,  was 
marked  with  the  easy  politeness  of  one  accustomed  to  a  favorable 
reception. 

"  May  I  congratulate  miladi,"  he  said,  rising  slowly  from  his 
bow,  and  fixing  his  eyes  with  unembarrassed  admiration  on  her 
own  liquid  but  now  frowning  orbs,  "  upon  her  safe  journey  over 
the  Marches !  Bologna,"  he  continued,  glancing  at  the  nobles 
with  a  courteous  smile,  "  welcomes  her  fittingly." 

The  lady  listened  with  a  look  of  surprise,  and   the  Bolognes 
glanced  from  the  dusty  boots  of  the  artist  to  his  portfolio. 

"  Has  the  painter  the  honor  to  know  la  Signora  ?"  asked  th 
cavalier  on  her  right. 

"  Signer,  si !"  said  the  painter,  fiercely,  as  a  curl  arched  th 
lady's  lip,  and  she  prepared  to  answer. 

The  color  mounted  to  the  temples  of  the  Marchesa,  and  her 
husband,  who  had  loitered  beneath  the  Madonna  of  Domenichino, 
coming  up  at  the  instant,  she  bowed  coldly  to  the  Signer  Basil, 
and  continued  down  the  aisle.  The  artist  followed  to  her  car 
riage,  and  lifted  his  hat  respectfully  as  the  lumbering  equipage 
took  its  way  by  the  famous  statue  of  Neptune,  and  then,  with 
confident  smile,  which  seemed  to  his  companions  somewhat  mi 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  195 


timed,  he  muttered  between  his  teeth,  li  ciascu.no  son  bel1  giorno  /" 
and  strolled  loitering  on  with  them  to  the  trattoria. 


IV. 


The  court  of  the  Grand-Duke  of  Florence  is  perhaps  the  most 
cosmopolitan,  and  the  most  easy  of  access,  in  all  Europe.  The 
Austrian-born  monarch  himself,  adopting  in  some  degree  the 
frank  and  joyous  character  of  the  people  over  whom  he  reigns, 
throws  open  his  parks  and  palaces,  his  gardens  and  galleries,  to 
the  strangers  passing  through  ;  and,  in  the  season  of  gayety,  almost 
any  presentable  person,  resident  at  Florence,  may  procure  the 
entree,  to  the  court  balls,  and  start  fair  with  noble  dames  and 
gentlemen  for  grace  in  courtly  favor.  The  fetes,  at  the  Palazzo 
Pitti,  albeit  not  always  exempt  from  a  leaven  of  vulgarity,  are 
always  brilliant  and  amusing,  and  the  exclusives  of  the  court, 
though  they  draw  the  line  distinctly  enough  to  their  own  eye, 
mix  with  apparent  abandonment  in  the  motley  waltz  and  mazurka  ; 
and,  either  from  good  nature  or  a  haughty  conviction  of  their 
superiority,  never  suffer  the  offensive  cordon  to  be  felt,  scarce  to 
be  suspected,  by  the  multitude  who  divert  them.  The  Grand- 
Duke,  to  common  eyes,  is  a  grave  and  rather  timid  person,  with 

!  more  of  the  appearance  of  the  scholar  than  of  the  sovereign, 
courteous  in  public,  and  benevolent  and  earnest  in  his  personal 
attentions  to  his  guests  at  the  palace.  The  royal  quadrille  may 
be  shared  without  permission  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  and  the 

i  royal  eye,  after  the  first  one  or  two  dances  of  ceremony,  searches 
for  partners  by  the  lamp  of  beauty,  heedless  of  the  diamonds  on 
the  brow,  or  the  star  of  nobility  on  the  shoulder.  The  grand 


196  SECRETS  OF  A  PALACE. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIC  NOR  BASIL.  197 


Via  Calzaiole,  they  emerged  into  the  sunny  Piazza,  and,  looking 
jp  with  understanding  eyes  at  the  slender  shaft  of  the  Campanile 
(than  which  a  fairer  figure  of  religious  architecture  points  not  to 
leaven),  they  took  their  way  toward  the  church  of  Santa  Trinita, 
proposing  to  eat  their  early  dinner  at  a  house  named,  from  its  ex 
cellence  in  a  certain  temperate  beverage,  La  Birra.  The 
traveller  should  be  advised,  also,  that  by  paying  an  extra  paul  in 
the  bottle,  he  may  have  at,  this  renowned  eating-house,  an  old 
nine  sunned  on  the  southern  shoulder  of  Fiesole,  that  hath  in  its 
flavor  a  certain  redolence  of  Boccaccio — scarce  remarkable,  since 
it  grew  in  the  scene  of  the  Decameron — but  of  a  virtue  which,  to 
the  Hundred  Tales  of  Love  (read  drinking),  is  what  the  Gradus 
ad  Parnassum  should  be  to  the  building  of  a  dithyrambic.  The 
oil  of  two  crazie  upon  the  palm  of  the  fat  waiter  Giuseppe  will 
assist  in  calling  the  vintage  to  his  memory. 

A  thundering  rap  upon  the  gate  of  the  adjoining  Palazzo 
arrested  the  attention  of  the  artists  as  they  were  about  to  enter 
the  Birra,  and,  in  the  occupant  of  a  dark-green  cabriolet,  drawn 
by  a  pampered  horse  of  the  Duke's  breed,  they  recognised,  ele 
gantly  dressed,  and  posed  on  his  seat  a  la  d^Orsay,  the  Signer 
Basil.  His  coat  was  of  an  undecided  cut  and  color,  and  his 
gloves  were  of  primrose  purity. 

The  recognition  was  immediate,  and  the  cordiality  of  the 
greeting  mutual.  They  had  parted  from  their  companion  at  the 
gate  of  Florence,  as  travellers  part,  without  question,  and  they 
met  without  reserve  to  part  as  questionless  again.  The  artists 
were  surprised  at  the  Signor  Basil's  transformation,  but  no  fol 
lower  of  their  refined  art  would  have  been  so  ill-bred  as  to  express 
it.  He  wished  them  the  Ion  appetite ,  as  a  tall  chasseur  came  out 
to  say  that  her  Ladyship  was  at  home  ;  and,  with  a  slacked  rein 


198  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  ANGEL. 


the  fiery  horse  sprang  through  the  gateway,  and  the  marble  court 
of  the  palace  rang  with  his  prancing  hoofs. 

He  who  was  idle  and  bought  flowers  at  the  Cafe  of  the  Colonna, 
at  Florence,  will  have  remarked,  as  he  sat  in  his  chair  upon  the 
street  in  the  sultry  evening,  the  richly-ornamented  terrace  and 
balustrade  of  the  Palazzo  Corsi,  giving  upon  the  Piazza  Trinita. 
The  dark  old  Ghibelline  palace  of  the  Strozzi  lets  the  eye  down 
upon  it,  as  it  might  pass  from  a  helmeted  knight  with  closed  vizor 
to  his  unbonneted  and  laughing  page.  The  crimson  curtains  of 
the  window  opening  upon  the  terrace,  at  the  time  of  our  story, 
reminded  every  passing  Florentine  of  the  lady  who  dwelt  within 
— a  descendant  of  one  of  the  haughtiest  lines  of  English  chivalry — 
resident  in  Italy,  since  many  years  for  health,  but  bearing,  in  her 
delicate  frame  and  exquisitely  transparent  features,  the  loftiest 
type  of  patrician  beauty  that  had  ever  filled  the  eye  that  looked 
upon  her.  In  the  inner  heaven  of  royal  exclusiveness  at  the  Pitti 
— in  its  constellation  of  rank  and  wit— the  Lady  Geraldine  had 
long  been  the  worshipped  and  ascendant  cynosure.  Happy  in  a 
husband  without  rank  and  but  of  moderate  fortune,  she  main 
tained  the  spotless  character  of  an  English  wife  in  this  sphere  of 
conventional  corruption  ;  and,  though  the  idol  of  the  Duke  and 
his  nobles,  it  would  have  been  like  a  whisper  against  the  purity  of 
the  brightest  Pleiad,  to  have  linked  her  name  with  love. 

With  her  feet  upon  a  sofa  covered  with  a  gossamer  cashmere, 
her  lovely  head  pillowed  on  a  cushion  of  silk,  and  a  shghi 
stand,  within  arm's  length,  holding  a  vase  of  flowers  and  th< 
volume  from  which  she  had  been  reading,  the  Lady  Geraldine 
received  the  Count  Basil  Spirifort,  some  time  attache  to 
Russian  embassy  at  Paris  (where  he  had  first  sunned  his  eyes 


: 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  199 


her  beauty),  and  at  present  the  newly-appointed  secretary  to  the 
minister  of  the  same  monarch  near  the  court  of  Tuscany. 

Without  a  bow,  but  with  the  hasty  step  and  gesture  of  a  long 
absent  and  favored  friend,  the  Count  Basil  ran  to  the  proffered 
hand,  and  pressed  its  alabaster  fingers  to  his  lips.  Had  the  more 
common  acquaintances  of  the  diplomate  seen  him  at  this  moment, 
they  would  have  marvelled  how  the  mask  of  manhood  may  drop, 
and  disclose  the  ingenuous  features  of  the  boy.  The  secretary 
knew  his  species,  and  the  Lady  Geraldine  was  one  of  those  women 
for  whom  the  soul  is  unwilling  to  possess  a  secret. 

After  the  first  inquiries  were  over,  the  lady  questioned  her 
recovered  favorite  of  his  history  since  they  had  parted.  "  I  left 
you,"  she  said,  "  swimming  the  dangerous  tide  of  life  at  Paris. 
How  have  you  come  to  shore  r" 

"  Thanks,  perhaps,  to  your  friendship,  which  made  life  worth 
the  struggle  !  For  the  two  extremes,  however,  you  know  what  I 
was  at  Paris — and  yesterday  1  was  a  wandering  artist  in  velveteen 
and  a  sombrero  !" 

Lady  Geraldine  laughed. 

"  Ah  !  you  look  at  my  curls — but  Macassar  is  at  a  discount ! 
It  is  the  only  grace  I  cherished  in  my  incognito.  A  resumer — I 
got  terribly  out  of  love  by  the  end  of  the  year  after  we  parted, 
and  as  terribly  in  debt.  My  promotion  in  diplomacy  did  not 
arrive,  and  the  extreme  hour  for  my  credit  did.  Pozzo  di  Borgo 
kindly  procured  me  conge  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  I  dived  pre 
sently  under  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  got  into  a  vetturino  with 
portfolio  and  pencils,  joined  a  troop  of  wandering  artists,  and,  with 
my  patrimony  at  nurse,  have  been  two  years  looking  at  life, 
without  spectacles,  at  Venice." 

"  And  painting  ?" 


200  USE  OF  A  PORTRAIT. 


"  Painting !" 

"  Might  one  see  a  specimen  ?"  asked  the  Lady  Geraldine,  with 
an  incredulous  smile.  ;-* 

"  I  regret  that  my  immortal  efforts  in  oils  are  in  the  possession 
of  a  certain  Venetian,  who  lets  the  fifth  floor  of  a  tenement 
washed  by  the  narrowest  canal  in  that  fair  city.  But,  if  your 
Ladyship  cares  to  see  a  drawing  or  two — " 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  his  jocki  Anglais  presently  brought,  from 
the  pocket  of  his  cabriolet,  a  wayworn  and  thinly-furnished  port 
folio.     The  Lady  Geraldine  turned  over  a  half-dozen  indifferent 
views  of  Venice,  but  the  last  cartoon  in  the  portfolio  made  he 
start. 

"  La  Marchesa  del  Marmore !"  she  exclaimed,  looking  a 
Count  Basil,  with  an  inquiring  and  half-uneasy  eye. 

"  Is  it  well  drawn  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"  Well  drawn  ? — it  is  a  sketch  worthy  of  Raphael.  Do  yo 
really  draw  so  well  as  this,  or" — she  added,  after  a  slight  hesi 
tation — "  is  it  a  miracle  of  love  ?" 

"  It  is  a  divine  head,"  soliloquised  the  Russian,  half  closing  hi 
eyes,  and  looking  at  the  drawing  from  a  distance,  as  if  to  fill  u 
the  imperfect  outline  from  his  memory. 

The  Lady  Geraldine  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.     "  My  dear   ' 
Basil,"  she  said  seriously,  "  I  should  be  wretched  if  I  thought 
your  happiness  was  in  the  power  of  this  woman.     Do  you  love 
her?" 

"  The  portrait  was  not  drawn  by  me,"  he  answered,  u  though  J 
have  a  reason  for  wishing  her  to  think  so.  It  was  done  by  a  fel 
low-traveller  of  mine;  whom  I  wish  to  make  a  sketch  of  yourself 
and  I  have  brought  it  here  to  interest  you  in  him  as  an  artist 
Mais  revenon*  n  nos  mnutons;  la.  Ma.rchesa  was  also  a  fellow- 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL. 


traveller  of  mine,  and  without  loving  her  too  violently,  I  owe  her 
a,  certain  debt  of  courtesy  contracted  on  the  way.  Will  you 
assist  me  to  pay  it  r" 

Relieved  of  her  fears,  and  not  at  all  suspecting  the  good  faith 
of  the  diplomatist  in  his  acknowledgments  of  gratitude,  the  Lady 
Geraldine  inquired  simply  how  she  could  serve  him. 

"  In  the  twenty-four  hours  since  my  arrival  at  Florence,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  put  myself,  as  you  will  see,  au  courant  of  the  minor  poli 
tics  of  the  Pitti.  Thanks  to  my  Parisian  renown,  the  duke  has 
enrolled  me  already  under  the  back-stairs  oligarchy,  and  to-mor 
row  night  I  shall  sup  with  you  in  the  saloon  of  Hercules  after  the 
ball  is  over.  La  Marchesa,  as  you  well  know,  has,  with  all  her 
rank  and  beauty,  never  been  able  to  set  foot  within  those  guarded 
penetralia  —  wit  her  malicious  tongue,  soit  the  interest,  against 
her,  of  the  men  she  has  played  upon  her  hook  too  freely.  The 
road  to  her  heart,  if  there  be  one,  lies  over  that  threshold, 
and  I  would  take  the  toll.  Do  you  understand  me,  most  beauti 
ful  Lady  Geraldine  ?» 

The  Count  Basil  imprinted  another  kiss  upon  the  fingers  of  the 
fair  Englishwoman,  as  she  promised  to  put  into  his  hand,  the  fol 
lowing  night,  the  illuminated  ticket  which  was  to  repay,  as  she 
thought,  too  generously,  a  debt  of  gratitude  ;  and,  plucking  a 
flower  from  her  vase  for  his  bosom,  he  took  his  leave  to  return  at 
twilight  to  dinner.  Dismissing  his  cabriolet  at  the  gate,  he  turned 
on  foot  toward  the  church  of  San  Gaetano,  and,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  unusual  elation  in  his  step  and  countenance,  entered 
the  trattoria,  where  dined  at  that  moment  his  companions  of  the 
pencil. 


202  A  PALACE  REVEL. 


The  green  lamps,  glittering  by  thousands  amid  the  foliage  of 
Boboli,  had  attained  their  full   brightness,  and  the  long-live 
Italian  day  had  died  over  the  distant  mountains  of  Carrara, 
ing  its  inheritance  of  light  apparently  to  the  stars,  who,  on  th( 
fields  of  deepening  blue,  sparkled,  each  one  like  the  leader  of 
unseen  host,  in  the  depths  of  heaven,  himself  the  foremost  and 
most   radiant.     The   night   was   balmy   and   voluptuous.     Tl 
music  of  the  Ducal  band  swelled  forth  from  the  perfumed  apai 
ments  on  the  air.     A  single  nightingale,  far  back  in  the  wildei 
ness  of  the  garden,  poured  from  his  melodious  heart  a  chant 
the  most  passionate  melancholy.     The  sentinel  of  the  body-guai 
stationed  at  the  limit  of  the  spray  of  the  fountain,  leaned  on  his 
halberd  and  felt  his  rude  senses  melt  in  the  united  spells  of  luxury 
and  nature.     The  ministers  of  a  monarch's  pleasure  had  done 
their  utmost  to  prepare  a  scene  of  royal  delight,  and  night  and  | 
summer  had  flung  in  their  enchantments  when  ingenuity  was  ex-  j 
hausted. 

The  dark  architectural  mass  of  the  Pitti,  pouring  a  blaze  of  j 
light  scarce  endurable  from  its  deeply-sunk  windows,  looked  like  ; 
the  side  of  an  enchanted  mountain  laid  open  for  the  revels  of 
sorcery.     The  aigrette  and  plume  passed  by ;  the  tiara  and  the 
jewel  upon  the  breast  ;x  the  gayly-dressed  courtiers  and  glittering 
dames ;  and,  to  that  soldier  at  his  dewy  post,  it  seemed  like 
realized  raving  of  the  improvisatore  when  he  is  lost  in  some  fabl 
of  Araby.     Yet,  within,  walked  malice  and  hate,  and  the  light  and 
perfume,  that  might  have  fed  an  angel's  heart  with  love,  but 
deepened  in  many  a  beating  bosom  the  consuming  fires  of  envy. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  2Q3 


With  the  gold  key  of  office  on  his  cape,  the  Grand  Chamber- 
rin  stood  at  the  feet  of  the  Dowager  Grand  Duchess,  and,  by  a 
;  ign  to  the  musicians,  hidden  in  a  latticed  gallery  behind  the 
i  'orinthian  capital  of  the  hall,  retarded  or  accelerated  the  soft 
i  leasure  of  the  waltz.  On  a  raised  seat  in  the  rear  of  the 
( hairs  of  state,  sat  the  ladies  of  honor  and  the  noble  dames  near- 
( st  allied  to  royal  blood ;  one  solitary  and  privileged  intruder 
alone  sharing  the  elevated  place — the  lady  Geraldine.  Dressed 
in  white,  her  hair  wound  about  her  head  in  the  simplest  form, 
yet  developing  its  divine  shape  with  the  clear  outline  of  statuary, 
(her  eyes  lambent  with  purity  and  sweetness,  heavily  fringed  with 
lashes  a  shade  darker  than  the  light  auburn  braided  on  her  tem 
ples,  and  the  tint  of  the  summer's  most  glowing  rose  turned  out 
from  the  threadlike  parting  of  her  lips,  she  was  a  vision  of 
loveliness  to  take  into  the  memory,  as  the  poet  enshrines  in  his 
soul  the  impossible  shape  of  his  ideal,  and  consumes  youth  and 
age  searching  in  vain  for  its  like.  Fair  Lady  Geraldine  !  thou 
wilt  read  these  passionate  words  from  one  whose  worship  of  thy 
intoxicating  loveliness  has  never  before  found  utterance,  but,  if 
this  truly-told  tale  should  betray  the  hand  that  has  dared  to  de 
scribe  thy  beauty,  in  thy  next  orisons  to  St.  Mary  of  Pity,  breathe 
from  those  bright  lips,  a  prayer  that  he  may  forget  thee  ! 

By  the  side  of  the  Lady  Geraldine,  but  behind  the  chair  of  the 
Grand  Duchess,  who  listened  to  his  conversation  with  singular  de 
light,  stood  a  slight  young  man  of  uncommon  personal  beauty,  a 
stranger  apparently  to  every  other  person  present.  His  brilliant 
uniform  alone  betrayed  him  to  be  in  the  Russian  diplomacy  ;  and 
the  marked  distinction  shown  him,  both  by  the  reigning  Queen  of 
the  Court,  and  the  more  powerful  and  inaccessible  queen  of  beau 
ty,  marked  him  as  an  object  of  keen  and  universal  curiosity. 


204  WEAK  DOOR  TO  A  HEART. 


- 


By  the  time  the  fifth  mazurka  had  concluded  its  pendulous 
frain,  the  Grand  Chamberlain  had  tolerably  well  circulated  the 
name  and  rank  of  Count  Basil  Spirifort,  the  renowned  wit  and 
elegant  of  Paris,  newly  appointed  to  the  court  of  his  royal  high 
ness  of  Tuscany.  Fair  eyes  wandered  amid  his  sunny  curls,  a 
beating  bosoms  hushed  their  pulses  as  he  passed. 

Count  Basil  knew  the  weight  of  a  first  impression.  Count 
Basil  knew  also  the  uses  of  contempt.  Upon  the  first  principle 
he  kept  his  place  between  the  Grand  Duchess  and  Lady  Geral- 
dine,  exerting  his  deeply  studied  art  of  pleasing,  to  draw  u 
himself  their  exclusive  attention.  Upon  the  second  principl 
he  was  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  another  hu 
being  ;  and  neither  the  gliding  step  of  the  small-eared  princes 

g in  the  waltz,  nor  the  stately  advance  of  the  last  femal 

of  the  Medici  in  the  mazurka,  distracted  his  large  blue  eyes 
moment  from  their  idleness.     With  one  hand  on  the  eagle-hilt  o 
his  sword,  and  his  side  leaned  against  the  high  cushion  of  re 
velvet  honored  by  the  pressure  of  the  Lady  Geraldine,  he  gaze 
up  into  that  beaming  face,  when  not  bending  respectfully  to  th 
Duchess,  and  drank  steadfastly  from  her  beauty,  as  the  lotus-cup 
drinks  light  from  the  sun. 

The  new  Secretary  had  calculated  well.  In  the  deep  recess  of 
the  window  looking  toward  San  Miniato,  stood  a  lady,  nearly  hi 
den  from  view  by  the  muslin  curtains  just  stirring  with  the  vib 
tion  of  the  music,  who  gazed  on  the  immediate  circle  of 
Grand  Duchess,  with  an  interest  that  was  not  attempted  to 
disguised.  On  her  first  entrance  into  the  hall,  the  Marchesa 
Marmore  had  recognised  in  the  new  minion  of  favor  her  impas 
sioned  lover  of  the  lagoon,  her  slighted  acquaintance  of  the 
cathedral.  When  the  first  shock  of  surprise  was  over,  she  looked 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  2Q5 


m  the  form  which  she  had  found  beautiful  even  in  the  disguise 
)f  poverty,  and,  forgetting  her  insulting  repulse  when  he  would 
lave  claimed  in  public  the  smile  she  had  given  him  when  unob 
served,  she  recalled  with  delight  every  syllable  he  had  murmured 
n  her  ear,  and  every  look  she  had  called  forth  in  the  light  of  a 
Venetian  moon.  The  man  who  had  burned,  upon  the  altar  of  her 
ranity,  the  most  intoxicating  incense — who  had  broken  through 
i;he  iron  rules  of  convention  and  ceremony,  to  throw  his  homage 
at  her  feet — who  had  portrayed  so  incomparably  (she  believed) 
with  his  love-inspired  pencil,  the  features  imprinted  on  his  heart — 
this  chance-won  worshipper,  this  daring  but  gifted  plebeian,  as 
she  had  thought  him,  had  suddenly  shot  into  her  sphere,  and  be 
come  a  legitimate  object  of  love  ;  and,  beautified  by  the  splendor 
of  dress,  and  distinguished  by  the  preference  and  favor  of  those 
incomparably  above  her,  he  seemed  tenfold,  to  her  eyes,  the  per 
fection  of  adorable  -beauty.  As  she  remembered  his  eloquent 
devotion  to  herself,  and  saw  the  interest  taken  in  him  by  a  woman 
whom  she  hated  and  had  calumniated — a  woman  who  she  believ 
ed  stood  between  her  and  all  the  light  of  existence — she  antici 
pated  the  triumph  of  taking  him  from  her  side,  of  exhibiting  him 
to  the  world  as  a  falcon  seduced  from  his  first  quarry  ;  and,  never 
doubting  that  so  brilliant  a  favorite  would  control  the  talisman  of 
:  the  Paradise  she  had  so  long  wished  to  enter,  she  panted  for  the 
moment  when  she  should  catch  his  eye  and  draw  him  from  his 
,lure,  and  already  heard  the  Chamberlain's  voice  in  her  ear,  com 
manding  her  presence,  after  the  ball,  in  the  saloon  of  Hercules. 

The  Marchesa  had  been  well  observed  from  the  first,  by  the 
wily  diplomate.  A  thorough  adept  in  the  art  (so  necessary  to  his 
profession)  of  seeing  without  appearing  to  see,  he  had  scarce  lost 
a  shade  of  the  varying  expressions  of  her  countenance ;  and 


206  NEARING  HIS  OBJECT. 


while  she  fancied  him  perfectly  unconscious  of  her  presence,  he 
read  her  tell-tale  features  as  if  they  had  given  utterance  to  her 
thoughts.  He  saw,  with  secret  triumph,  the  effect  of  his  bril 
liant  position  upon  her  proud  and  vain  heart ;  watched  her  while 
she  made  use  of  her  throng  of  despised  admirers  to  create  a  sen 
sation  near  him,  and  attract  his  notice ;  and,  when  the  ball  wore 
on,  and  he  was  still  in  unwearied  and  exclusive  attendance  upon 
the  Lady  Geraldine,  he  gazed  after  her  with  a  momentary  curl  of 
triumph  on  his  lip,  as  she  took  up  her  concealed  position  in  the 
embayed  window,  and  abandoned  herself  to  the  bitter  occupation 
of  watching  the  happiness  of  her  rival.  The  Lady  Geraldine 
had  never  been  so  animated  since  her  first  appearance  at  the 
Court  of  Tuscany. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  Grand-Duke,  flushed  and  tired 
with  dancing,  came  to  the  side  of  the  Lady  Geraldine.  Count 
Basil  gave  place,  and,  remaining  a  moment  in  nominal  obedience 
to  the  sovereign's  polite  request,  which  he  was  too  politic  to  con 
strue  literally,  he  looked  down  the  dance  with  the  air  of  one  whc 
has  turned  his  back  on  all  that  could  interest  him,  and,  passing 
close  to  the  concealed  position  of  the  Marchesa,  stepped  out  upc 
the  balcony. 

The  air  was  cool,  and  the  fountain  played  refreshingly 
The  Count  Basil  was  one  of  those  minds  which  never  have 
much  leisure  for  digression  as  when  they  are  most  occupied, 
love,  as  deep  and  profound  as  the  abysses  of  his  soul,  was  wea- 
ing  thread  for  thread  with  a  revenge  worthy  of  a  Mohican  ;  yet 
after  trying  in  vain  to  count  eight  in  the  Pleiades,  he  raised  him 
self  upon  the  marble  balustrade,  and,  perfectly  anticipating  th 
interruption  to  his  solitude  which  presently  occurred,  began  t 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  207 


speculate  aloud  on  the  dead  and  living  at  that  hour  beneath  the 
roof  of  the  Pitti. 

"  A  painter's  mistress,"  he  said,  "  immortal  in  the  touch  of 
her  paramour's  pencil,  is  worshipped  for  centuries  on  these  walls 
by  the  pilgrims  of  art ;  while  the  warm  perfection  of  all  loneli 
ness — the  purest  and  divinest  ^of  highborn  women — will  perish 
utterly  with  the  eyes  that  have  seen  her  !  The  Bella  of  Titian, 
the  Fornarina  of  Raffaelle — peasant-girls  of  Italy — have,  at  this 
moment,  more  value  in  this  royal  palace,  than  the  breathing  forms 
that  inhabit  it !  The  Lady  Geraldine  herself,  to  whom  the  sove 
reign  offers  at  this  moment  his  most  flattering  homage,  would 
be  less  a  loss  to  him  than  either  !  Yet  they  despise  the  gods  of 
the  pencil  who  may  thus  make  them  immortal !  The  dull  blood 
in  their  noble  veins,  that  never  bred  a  thought  beyond  the  in 
stincts  of  their  kind,  would  look  down,  forsooth,  on  the  inventive 
and  celestial  ichor,  that  inflames  the  brain,  and  prompts  the  fiery 
hand  of  the  painter  !  How  long  will  this  very  sovereign  live  in 
the  memories  of  men  r  The  murderous  Medici,  the  ambitious 
Cardinals,  the  abandoned  women,  of  an  age  gone  by,  hang  in  im 
perishable  colors  on  his  walls  ;  while  of  him,  the  lord  of  this 
land  of  genius,  there  is  not  a  bust  or  a  picture  that  would  bring  a 
sequin  in  the  market-place  !  They  would  buy  genius  in  these 
days  like  wine,  and  throw  aside  the  flask  in  which  it  ripened. 
Raffaelle  and  Buonarotti  were  companions  for  a  Pope  and  his 
cardinals  :  Titian  was  an  honored  guest  for  the  Doge.  The 
stimulus  to  immortalize  these  noble  friends  was  in  the  love 
they  bore  them  ;  and  the  secret  in  their  power  to  do  it,  lay  half 
in  the  knowledge  of  their  characters,  gained  by  daily  intimacy. 
Painters  were  princes  then,  as  they  are  beggars  now  ;  and  the 
princely  art  is  beggared  as  well !" 


01 

,1- 

= 


208  LOVE  AT  COURT. 

The  Marchesa  del  Marmore  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  The  soliloquizing 
secretary  had  foretold  to  himself  both  her  coming  and  her  com 
panion. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  the  Chamberlain,  "  la  Marchesa  del 
Marmore  wishes  for  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance. 

Count  Basil  bowed  low,  and,  in  that  low  and  musical  tone  of 
respectful  devotion  which,  real  or  counterfeit,  made  him  irresisti 
ble  to  a  woman  who  had  a  soul  to  be  thrilled,  he  repeated  th 
usual  nothings  upon  the  beauty  of  the  night;  and  when  th 
Chamberlain  returned  to  his  duties,  the  Marchesa  walked  fo: 
with  her  companion  to  the  cool  and  fragrant  alleys  of  the  garden 
and,  under  the  silent  and  listening  stars,  implored  forgiveness 
for  her  pride  ;  and,  with  the  sudden  abandonment  peculiar  to  the 
clime,  poured  into  his  ear  the  passionate  and  weeping  avowal  of 
her  sorrow  and  love. 

"  Those  hours  of  penitence  in  the  embayed  window,"  thought 
Count  Basil,  "  were  healthy  for  your  soul."  Arid,  as  she  walked 
by  his  side,  leaning  heavily  on  his  arm,  and  half-dissolved  in  a 
confiding  tenderness,  his  thoughts  reverted  to  another  and  a  far, 
sweeter  voice  ;  and,  while  the  carressing  words  of  the  Marchesa 
fell  on  an  unlistening  ear,  his  footsteps  insensibly  turned  back  to 
the  lighted  hall. 


VI. 

As  the  daylight  stole  softly  over  Vallombrosa,  the  luxurioi 
chariot  of  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore   stopped  at   the  door 
Count  Basil.     The  Lady  Geraldine's  suit  had  been  successft 
and    the  hitherto   excluded  Florentine  had  received,  from 


THE  KEVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  209 

hand  of  the  man  she  had  once  so  ignorantly  scorned,  a  privilege 
for  which  she  would  have  bartered  her  salvation  :  she  had  supped 
at  his  side  in  the  saloon  of  Hercules.  With  many  faults  of  char 
acter,  she  was  an  Italian  in  feeling,  and  had  a  capacity,  like  all 
her  countrywomen,  for  a  consuming  and  headlong  passion.  She 
had  better  have  been  born  of  marble. 

"  I  have  lifted  you  to  heaven,"  said  Count  Basil,  as  her  cha 
riot-wheels  rolled  from  his  door  ;  "  but  it  is  as  the  eagle  soars 
into  the  clouds  with  the  serpent,  We  will  see  how  you  will  rel 
ish  the  fall !" 


PART    II. 

THE  Grand-Duke's  carriages,  with  their  six  horses  and  out 
riders,  had  turned  down  the  Borg'ognisanti,  and  the  "  City  of  the 
Red  Lily,"  waking  from  her  noonday  slumber,  was  alive  with  the 
sound  of  wheels.  The  sun  was  sinking  over  the  Apennine  which 
kneels  at  the  gate  of  Florence  ;  the  streets  were  cool  and  shadowy ; 
the  old  women,  with  the  bambino,  between  their  knees,  braided 
straw  at  the  doors  ;  the  booted  guardsman  paced  his  black  charger 
slowly  over  the  jeweller's  bridge  ;  the  picture-dealer  brought  for- 

I  ward  his  brightest  "master"  to  the  fading  light ;  and  while  the 
famous  churches  of  that  fairest  city  of  the  earth  called  to  the 

.  Ave-Maria  with  impatient  bell,  the  gallantry  and  beauty  of 
Tuscany  sped  through  the  dampening  air  with  their  swift  horses, 
meeting  and  passing,  with  gay  greetings,  amid  the  green  alleys  of 
the  Cascine. 

The    twilight   had    become  grey,   when   the    carriages    and 


210  SOIREE   ON    WHEELS. 


horsemen,  scattered  in  hundreds  through  the  interlaced  roads  of 
this  loveliest  of  parks,  turned  by  common  consent  toward  the 
spacious  square  in  the  centre,  and,  drawing  up,  in  thickly-serried 
ranks,  the  soiree  on  wheels,  the  reunion  en  plein  air,  which  is  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  the  peculiar  customs  of  Florence,  com 
menced  its  healthful  gayeties.  The  showy  carriages  of  the 
Grand-Duke  and  the  ex-King  of  Wurtemberg  (whose  rank  would 
not  permit  them  to  share  in  the  familiarities  of  the  hour)  disap 
peared  by  the  avenue  skirting  the  bank  of  the  Arno,  and,  with 
much  delicate  and  some  desperate  specimens  of  skill,  the  coach 
men  of  the  more  exclusive  nobility  threaded  the  embarrassec 
press  of  vehicles,  and  laid  their  wheels  together  on  the  southern 
edge  of  the  piazza.  The  beaux  in  the  saddle,  disembarrassed  of 
ladies  and  axletrees,  enjoyed  their  usual  butterfly  privilege  of 
roving,  and,  with  light  rein  and  ready  spur,  pushed  their  impatient 
horses  to  the  coronetted  panels  of  the  loveliest  or  most  powerful ; 
the  laugh  of  the  giddy  was  heard  here  and  there  over  the  pawin 
of  restless  hoofs ;  an  occasional  scream — half  of  apprehensior 
half  of  admiration — rewarded  the  daring  caracole  of  some  youn 
and  bold  rider  ;  and,  while  the  first  star  sprang  to  its  place,  an 
the  dew  of  heaven  dropped  into  the  false  flowers  in  the  hat  of  th 
belle,  and  into  the  thirsting  lips  of  the  violet  in  the  field,  (sim 
plicity,  like  virtue,  is  its  own  reward!),  the  low  murmur  o 
calumny  and  compliment,  of  love  and  light-heartedness,  of  polite 
ness,  politics,  puns,  and  poetry,  arose  over  that  assembly  upo 
wheels  :  and,  if  it  was  not  a  scene  and  an  hour  of  happiness,  it  wa 
the  fault  neither  of  the  fragrant  eve  nor  of  the  provisions  ( 
nature  and  fortune.  The  material  for  happiness  was  there. 

A  showy  caleche,  with  panels  of  dusky  crimson,  the  hammer- 
cloth  of  the  same  shade,  edged  with  a  broad  fringe  of  white,  the 


THE   REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  211 


wheels  slightly  picked  out  with  the  same  colors,  and  the  coachman 
and  footman  in  corresponding  liveries,  was  drawn  up  near  the 
southern  edge  of  the  Piazza.  A  narrow  alley  had  been  left  for 
horsemen,  between  this  equipage  and  the  adjoining  ones,  closed  up 
at  the  extremity,  however,  by  a  dark-green  and  very  plain 
chariot,  placed,  with  a  bold  violation  of  etiquette,  directly  across 
the  line,  and  surrounded,  just  now,  by  two  or  three  persons  of  the 
highest  rank,  leaning  from  their  saddles  in  earnest  conversation 
with  the  occupant.  Not  far  from  the  caleche,  mounted  upon  an 
English  blood-horse  of  great  beauty,  a  young  man  had  just  drawn 
rein  as  if  interrupted  only  for  a  moment  on  some  passing  errand, 
and,  with  his  hat  slightly  raised,  was  paying  his  compliments  ?o 
the  venerable  Prince  Poniatowski,  at  that  time  the  Amphytrion 
of  Florence.  From  moment  to  moment,  as  the  pauses  occurred 
in  the  exchange  of  courteous  phrases,  the  rider,  whose  spurred 
heel  was  close  at  his  saddle-girths,  stole  an  impatient  glance  up 
the  avenue  of  carriages  to  the  dark -green  chariot,  and,  excited  by 
the  lifted  rein  and  the  proximity  of  the  spur,  the  graceful  horse 
fretted  on  his  minion  feet,  and  the  bending  figures  from  a  hundred 
vehicles,  and  the  focus  of  bright  eyes  radiating  from  all  sides  to 
the  spot,  would  have  betrayed,  even  to  a  stranger,  that  the  horse 
man  was  of  no  common  mark.  Around  his  uncovered  temples 
floated  fair  and  well-cherished  locks  of  the  sunniest  auburn  ;  and, 
if  there  was  beauty  in  the  finely-drawn  lines  of  his  lips,  there  was 
an  inexpressibly  fierce  spirit  as  well. 


212  POWER  AT  COURT. 


II. 

The  Count  Basil  had  been  a  month  at  Florence.  In  that  time 
he  had  contrived  to  place  himself  between  the  Duke's  ear  and  all 
the  avenues  of  favor,  and  had  approached  as  near,  perhaps  nearer, 
to  the  hearts  of  the  women  of  his  court.  A  singular  and  instinctive 
knowledge  of  the  weaknesses  of  human  nature,  perfected  and  con 
cealed  by  conversance  with  the  consummate  refinement  of  life  at 
Paris,  remarkable  personal  beauty,  and  a  quality  of  scornful  bit 
terness  for  which  no  one  could  divine  a  reason  in  a  character  and 
fate  else  so  happily  mingled,  but  which,  at  the  same  time,  added  to 
his  fascination,  had  given  Count  Basil  a  command  over  the  varied 
stops  of  society,  equalled  by  few  players  on  that  difficult  and 
capricious  instrument.  His  worldly  ambition  went  swimmingly 
on,  and  the  same  wind  filled  the  sails  of  his  lighter  ventures  as 
well.  The  love  of  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore,  as  he  had  very 
well  anticipated,  grew  with  his  influence  and  renown.  A  woman's 
pride,  he  perfectly  knew,  is  difficult  to  wake  after  she  has  once 
believed  herself  adored  ;  and,  satisfied  that  the  portrait  taken  on 
the  lagoon,  and  the  introduction  he  had  given  her  to  the  exclu 
sive  penetralia  of  the  Pitti,  would  hold  her  till  his  revenge  was 
complete,  he  left  her  love  for  him  to  find  its  own  food  in  his  suc 
cesses,  and  never  approached  her  but  to  lay  to  her  heart,  more 
mordently,  the  serpents  of  jealousy  and  despair. 

For  the  Lady  Geraldine  the  Count  Basil  had  conceived  a  love, 
the  deepest  of  which  his  nature  was  capable.  Long  as  he  had 
known  her,  it  was  a  passion  born  in  Italy,  and,  while  it  partook  of 
the  qualities  of  the  clime,  it  had  for  its  basis  the  habitual  and 
well-founded  respect  of  a  virtuous  and  sincere  friendship.  At 


THE    REVENGE   OF    THE    SIGNOR    BASIL.  213 


their  first  acquaintance  at  Paris,  the  lo\Tely  Englishwoman, 
newly  arrived  from  the  purer  moral  atmosphere  of  her  own 
country,  was  moving  in  the  dissolute,  but  skilfully  disguised 
society  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  with  the  simple  uncon 
sciousness  of  the  pure  in  heart,  innocent  herself,  and  naturally 
unsuspicious  of  others.  The  perfect  frankness  with  which  she 
established  an  intimacy  with  the  clever  and  accomplished  attache, 
had  soon  satisfied  that  clear-sighted  person  that  there  was  no 
passion  in  her  preference,  and,  giddy  with  the  thousand  pleasures 
of  that  metropolis  of  delight,  he  had  readily  sunk  his  first  startled 
admiration  of  her  beauty  in  an  affectionate  and  confiding  friend 
ship.  He  had  thus  shown  her  the  better  qualities  of  his  character 
only,  and,  charmed  with  his  wit  and  penetration,  and  something 
flattered,  perhaps,  with  the  devotion  of  so  acknowledged  an 
autocrat  of  fashion  and  talent,  she  had  formed  an  attachment  for 
him  that  had  all  the  earnestness  of  love  without  its  passion. 
They  met  at  Florence,  but  the  "  knowledge  of  good  and  evil" 
had,  by  this  time,  driven  the  Lady  Geraldine  from  her  Eden  of 
unconsciousness.  StilLas  irreproachable  in  conduct,  and  perhaps 
as  pure  in  heart  as  before,  an  acquaintance  with  the  forms  of  vice 
had  introduced  into  her  manners  those  ostensible  cautions  which, 
while  they  protect,  suggest  also  what  is  to  be  feared. 

A  change  had  taken  place  also  in  Count  Basil.  He  had  left 
the  vitreous  and  mercurial  clime  of  France,  with  its  volatile  and 
superficial  occupations,  for  the  voluptuous  and  indolent  air  of 
Italy,  and  the  study  of  its  impassioned  deifications  of  beauty. 
;  That  which  had  before  been  in  him  an  instinct  of  gay  pleasure — 
a  pursuit  which  palled  in  the  first  moment  of  success,  and  was 
second  to  his  ambition  or  his  vanity — had  become,  in  those  two 
years  of  a  painter's  life,  a  thirst  both  of  the  senses  and  the  ima- 


214  EFFECT   OF    ITALY   ON   LOVE. 


gination,  which  had  usurped  the  very  throne  of  his  soul.  Like 
the  Hindoo  youth,  who  finds  the  gilded  plaything  of  his  childhood 
elevated  in  his  maturer  years  into  a  god,  he  bowed  his  heart  to 
what  he  held  so  lightly,  and  brought  the  costly  sacrifice  of  time 
and  thought  to  its  altars.  He  had  fed  his  eyes  upon  the  divine 
glories  of  the  pencil,  and  upon  the  breathing  wonders  of  love  in 
marble,  beneath  the  sky  and  in  the  dissolving  air  in  which  they 
rose  to  the  hand  of  inspiration ;  and,  with  his  eye  disciplined,  and 
his  blood  fused  with  taste  and  enthusiasm,  that  idolatry  of  beauty, 
which  had  before  seemed  sensual  or  unreal,  kindled  its  first  fires 
in  his  mind,  and  his  senses  were  intoxicated  with  the  incense. 
There  is  a  kind  of  compromise  in  the  effects  of  the  atmosphere 
and  arts  of  Italy.  If  the  intellect  takes  a  warmer  hue  in  its  study 
of  the  fair  models  of  antiquity,  the  senses  in  turn  become  more 
refined  and  intellectual.  In  other  latitudes  and  lands  woman  is 
loved  more  coldly.  After  the  brief  reign  of  a  passion  of  instinct, 
she  is  happy  if  she  can  retain  her  empire  by  habit,  or  the  qualities 
of  the  heart.  That  divine  form,  meant  to  assimilate  her  to  the 
angels,  has  never  been  recognised  by  the  dull  eye  that  should 
have  seen  in  it  a  type  of  her  soul.  To  the  love  of  the  painter  or 
the  statuary,  or  to  his  who  has  made  himself  conversant  with  their 
models,  is  added  the  imperishable  enthusiasm  of  a  captivating  and 
exalted  study.  The  mistress  of  his  heart  is  the  mistress  of  his 
mind.  She  is  the  breathing  realization  of  that  secret  ideal  which 
exists  in  every  mind,  but  which,  in  men  ignorant  of  the  fine  arts, 
takes  another  form,  and  becomes  a  woman's  rival  and  usurper. 
She  is  like  nothing  in  ambition — she  is  like  nothing  in  science  o 
business — nothing  in  out-of-door  pleasures.  If  politics,  or  th 
chase,  or  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  is  the  form  of  this  rulin 
passion,  she  is  unassociated  with  that  which  is  nearest  his  heart 


THE    REVENGE   OF   THE    SIGNOR    BASIL.  215 


ind  be  returns  to  her  with  an  exhausted  interest  and  a  fla^o-mor 

OO        O 

fancy.  It  is  her  strongest  tie  upon  his  affection,  even,  that  she 
s  his  refuge  when  unfit  for  that  which  occupies  him  most — in  his 
fatigue,  his  disappointment,  his  vacuity  of  head  and  heart.  He 
thinks  of  her  only  as  she  receives  him  in  his  most  worthless 
hours ;  and,  as  his  refreshed  intellects  awake,  she  is  forgotten 
with  the  first  thought  of  his  favorite  theme — for  what  has  a 
woman's  loveliness  to  do  with  that  ? 

Count  Basil  had  not  concluded  his  first  interview  with  the  Lady 
Geraldine,  without  marvelling  at  the  new  feelings  with  which  he 
looked  upon  her.  He  had  never  before  realized  her  singular  and 
adorable  beauty.  The  exquisitely-turned  head,  the  small  and 
pearly  ears,  the  spiritual  nostril,  the  softly-moulded  chin,  the 
clear  loftiness  of  expression  yet  inexpressible  delicacy  and  bright 
ness  in  the  lips,  and  a  throat  and  bust — than  which  those  oi 
Faustina  in  the  delicious  marble  of  the  Gallery  of  Florence  might 
be  less  envied  by  the  Queen  of  Love — his  gaze  wandered  over 
these,  and  followed  her  in  the  harmony  of  her  motions,  and  the 
native  and  unapproachable  grace  of  every  attitude  ;  and  the  pic 
tures  he  had  so  passionately  studied  seemed  to  fade  in  his  mind, 
and  the  statues  he  had  half  worshipped  seemed  to  descend  from 
their  pedestals  depreciated.  The  Lady  Geraldine,  for  the  first 
;time,  felt  his  eye.  For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance,  she 
was  offended  with  its  regard.  Her  embarrassment  was  read  by 
;  the  quick  diplomate,  and  at  that  moment  sprang  into  being  a 
passion,  which  perhaps  had  died  but  for  the  conscious  acknow 
ledgment  of  her  rebuke. 

Up  to  tho  evening  in  the  Cascino,  with  which  the  second 
chapter  of  this  mainly  true  tale  commences,  but  one  of  the  two 
leading  threads,  in  the  Count  Basil's  woof,  had  woven  well.  "  The 


216  VAIN  OBSTACLE. 


jealous  are  the  damned,"  and  the  daily  and  deadly  agony  of  the 
Marchesa  del  Marmore  was  a  dark  ground  from  which  his  love  to 
the  Lady  Geraldine  rose  to  his  own  eye  in  heightened  relief.  His 
dearest  joy  forwarded  with  equal  step  his  dearest  revenge  ;  and 
while  he  could  watch  the  working  of  his  slow  torture  in  the 
fascinated  heart  of  his  victim,  he  was  content  to  suspend  a  blow 
to  which  that  of  death  would  be  a  mercy.  "  The  law,"  said  Count 
Basil,  as  he  watched  her  quivering  and  imploring  lip,  "  takes 
cognizance  but  of  the  murder  of  the  body.  It  has  no  retributior 
for  the  keener  dagger  of  the  soul." 


III. 

The    conversation   between   the    Russian   Secretary  and    the 
Prince   Poniatowski  ended  at  last  in  a  graceful  bow  from  the 
former  to  his  horse's  neck ;  and  the  quicker  rattling  of  the  small 
hoofs  on  the  ground,  as  the  fine  creature  felt  the  movement  in  th( 
saddle  and  prepared  to  bound  away,  drew  all  eyes  once  mor< 
upon  the  handsomest  and  most  idolized  gallant  of  Florence.    Th< 
narrow  lane  of  carriages,  commencing  with  the  showy  caleche  o  , 
the  Marchesa  del  Marmore,  and  closed  up  by  the  plain  chariot  o 
the  Lady  Geraldine,  was  still  open ;  and,  with  a  glance  at  tin 
latter  which   sufficiently  indicated   his  destination,   Count  Basi 
raised  his  spurred  heel,  and,   with  a  smile  of  delight  and  th 
quickness  of  a  barb  in  the  desert,  galloped  toward  the  opening 
In  the  same  instant  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore  gave  a  convulsiv* 
spring  forward,  and,  in  obedience  to  an   imperative  order,  he  • 
coachman  violently  drew  rein   and  laid  the   back  and  forwar  . 
wheels  of  the  caliche  directly  across  his  path.     Met  in  full  caree  • 
by  this  sudden  obstacle,  the  horse  of  the  Russian   reared  high  i 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  217 


.ir ;  but,  ere  the  screams  of  apprehension  had  arisen  from  the 
.djacent  carriages,  the  silken  bridle  was  slacked,  and  with  a  low 
>ow  to  the  foiled  and  beautiful  Marchesa  as  he  shot  past,  he 
>rushed  the  hammer-cloths  of  the  two  scarce  separated  car- 
iagcs,  and,  at  the  same  instant,  stood  at  the  chariot  window  of  the 
^ady  Geraldine,  as  calm  and  respectful  as  if  he  had  never  known 
danger  or  emotion. 

A  hundred  eyes  had  seen  the  expression  of  his  face  as  he  leaped 
past  the  unhappy  woman,  and  the  drama,  of  which  that  look  was 
the  key,  was  understood  in  Florence.  The  Lady  Geraldine  alone, 
seated  far  back  in  her  chariot,  was  unconscious  of  the  risk  run  for 
•  the  smile  with  which  she  greeted  its  hero  ;  and  unconscious,  as 
well,  of  the  poignant  jealousy  and  open  mortification  she  had 
innocently  assisted  to  inflict,  she  stretched  her  fair  and  trans 
parent  hand  from  the  carriage ,  and  stroked  the  glossy  neck  of  his 
horse,  and  while  the  iVlarchesa  del  Marmore  drove  past  with  a 
look  of  inexpressible  anguish  and  hate,  and  the  dispersing  nobles 
and  dames  took  their  way  to  the  city  gates,  Count  Basil  leaned 
close  to  the  ear  of  that  loveliest  of  breathing  creatures,  and  forgot, 
as  she  forgot  in  listening  to  the  bewildering  music  of  his  voice, 
that  the  stars  had  risen,  or  that  the  night  was  closing  around 
them. 

The  Cascine  had  long  been  silent  when  the  chariot  of  the  Lady 
Geraldine  took  its  way  to  the  town,  and,  with  the  reins  loose  upon 
his  horse's  neck,  Count  Basil  followed  at  a  slower  pace,  lost  in 
therevery  of  a  tumultuous  passion.  The  sparkling  and  unob 
structed  stars  broke  through  the  leafy  roof  of  the  avenue  whose 
silence  was  disturbed  by  those  fine  and  light-stepping  hoofs,  and 
the  challenge  of  the  Duke's  forester,  going  his  rounds  ere  the 
gates  closed,  had  its  own  deep-throated  echo  for  its  answer. 
10 


218  ITALIAN  LOVE. 


The  Arno  rippled  among  the  rushes  on  its  banks,  the  occasional 
roll  of  wheels  passing  the  paved  arch  of  the  Ponte  Seraglio,  came 
faintly  down  the  river  upon  the  moist  wind,  the  pointed  cypresses 
of  the  convent  of  Bello  Sguardo  laid  their  slender  fingers  againsl 
the  lowest  stars  in  the  southern  horizon,  and,  with  his  feet  pressed, 
carelessly,  far  through  his  stirrups,  and  his  head  dropped  on  hi} 
bosom,  the  softened  diploniate  turned  instinctively  to  the  left  iu 
the  last  diverging  point  of  the  green  alleys,  and  his  horse's  can 
were  already  pricked  at  the  tread,  before  the  gate,  of  the  watd 
ful  and  idle  doganieri. 

Close  under  the  city  walls  on  this  side  Florence,  the  travell 
will  remember  that  the  trees  are  more  thickly  serried,  and  tl 
stone  seats,  for  the  comfort  and  pleasure  of  those  who  would  ste 
forth  from  the  hot  streets  for  an  hour  of  fresh  air  and  rest,  ar 
mossy  with  the  depth  of  the  perpetual  shade.     In  the  midst  o: 
this  dark  avenue,  the  unguided  animal  beneath  the  careless  am 
forgetful  rider  suddenly  stood  still,  and  the  next  moment  startin: 
aside,  a  female  sprang  high  against  his  neck,  and  Count  Bas 
ere  awake  from  his  re  very,  felt   the  glance  of  a  dagger-bl 
across  his  bosom. 

With  the  slender  wrist  that  had  given  the  blow  firmly  arreste 
in  his  left  hand,  the  Count  Basil  slowly  dismounted,  and,  after  .  | 
steadfast  look,  by  the  dim  light,  into  the  face  of  the  lovely  assas  • 
sin,  he  pressed  her  fingers  respectfully,  and  with  well  countei  • 
feited  emotion,  to  his  lips. 

"  Twice  since  the  Ave-Maria  !"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  reproaci  • 
ful  tenderness,  "  and  against  a  life  that  is  your  own  !" 

He  could  see,  even  in  that  faint  light,  the  stern  compression  o  ' 
those  haughty  lips,  and  the  flash  of  the  darkest  eyes  of  the  V;  1 
d'Arno.  But  leading  her  gently  to  a  seat,  he  sat  beside  her,  am  , 


THE  REVENGE  OP  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  219 


?ritk  scarce  ten  brief  moments  of  low-toned  and  consummate  elo 
quence,  he  once  more  deluded  her  soul ! 

"  We  meet  to-morrow,"  she  said,  as,  after  a  burst  of  irrepressi 
ble  tears,  she  disengaged  herself  from  his  neck,  and  looked 
:oward  the  end  of  the  avenue,  where  Count  Basil  had  already 
icard  the  pawing  of  her  impatient  horses. 

"  To  morrow  !"  he  answered  ;  but,  mia  carissima  !"  he  con 
tinued,  opening  his  breast  to  stanch  the  blood  of  his  wound,  "  you 
owe  me  a  concession  after  this  rude  evidence  of  your  love." 

She  looked  into  his  face  as  if  answer  was  superfluous. 

u  Drive  to  my  palazzo  at  noon,  and  remain  with  me  till  the 
Ave-Maria. 

For  but  half  a  moment  the  impassioned  Italian  hesitated. 
Though  the  step  he  demanded  of  her  was  apparently  without 
motive  or  reason — though  it  was  one  that  sacrificed,  to  a  whim, 
her  station,  her  fortune,  and  her  friends — she  hesitated  but  to 
question  her  reason  if  the  wretched  price  of  this  sacrifice  would 
be  paid — if  the  love,  to  which  she  fled  from  this  world  and  heaven, 
was  her  own.  In  other  countries,  the  crime,  of  infidelity  is 
punished  :  in  Italy  it  is  the  appearance  only  that  is  criminal.  In 
proportion  as  the  sin  is  overlooked,  the  violation  of  the  outward 
proprieties  of  life  is  severely  visited  ;  and,  while  a  lover  is  stipu- 
jlated  for  in  the  marriage-contract,  an  open  visit  to  that  lover's 
house  is  an  offence  which  brands  the  perpetrator  with  irremediable 
shame.  The  Marchesa  del  Marmore  well  knew,  that,  in  going 
forth  from  the  ancestral  palace  of  her  husband  on  a  visit  to  Count 
Basil,  she  took  leave  of  it  for  ever.  The  equipage  that  would 
bear  her  to  him  would  never  return  for  her  ;  the  protection,  the 
fortune,  the  noble  relations,  the  troops  of  friends,  would  all  drop 
"roin  her.  In  the  pride  of  her  youth  and  beauty — from  the  high- 


220  KETKIBUTION. 


est  pinnacle  of  rank — from  the  shelter  of  fortune  and  esteem — 
she  would  descend,  by  a  single  step,  to  be  a  beggar  for  life  and 
love  from  the  mercy  of  the  heart  she  fled  to  ! 

"  I  will  come,"  she  said,  in  a  firm  voice,  looking  close  into  his 
face,  as  if  she  would  read  in  his  dim  features  the  prophetic  answer 
of  his  soul. 

The  Count  Basil  strained  her  to  his  bosom,  and,  starting  back, 
as  if  with  the  pain  of  his  wound,  he  pleaded  the  necessity  of  a  sur 
geon,  and  bade  her  a  hasty  good-night.  And,  while  she  gained 
her  own  carriage  in  secrecy,  he  rode  round  to  the  other  gate, 
which  opens  upon  the  Borg'ognisanti,  and,  dismounting  at  the 
Cafe  Colonna,  where  the  artists  were  at  this  hour  usually  assem 
bled,  he  sought  out  his  fellow-traveller,  Giannino  Speranza,  who 
had  sketched  the  Marchesa  upon  the  lagoon,  and  made  an  aj 
pointment  with  him  for  the  morrow. 


IV. 

While  the  Count  Basil's  revenge  sped  thus  merrily,  the  just 
Fates  were  preparing  for  him  a  retribution  in  his  love.  The 
mortification  of  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore,  at  the  Cascine,  had 
been  made  the  subject  of  conversation  at  the  prima  sera  of  the 
Lady  Geraldine ;  and,  other  details  of  the  same  secret  drama 
transpiring  at  the  same  time,  the  whole  secret  of  Count  Basil's 
feelings  toward  that  unfortunate  woman  flashed  clearly  and  fully 
upon  her.  His  motives  for  pretending  to  have  drawn  the  portrait 
of  the  lagoon — for  procuring  her  an  admission  to  the  exclusive 
suppers  of  the  Pitti— for  a  thousand  things  which  had  been  unac 
countable,  or  referred  to  more  amiable  causes — were  at  once 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  221 


mveiled.  Even  yet,  with  no  suspicion  of  the  extent  of  his 
•evenge,  the  Lady  Geraldine  felt  an  indignant  pity  for  the  un- 
3onscious  victim,  and  a  surprised  disapproval  of  the  character 
unmasked  to  her  eye.  Upon  further  reflection,  her  brow  flushed 
;o  remember  that  she  herself  had  been  made  the  most  effective 
:ool  of  his  revenge ;  and,  as  she  recalled  circumstance  after  cir- 
3umstance  in  the  last  month's  history,  the  attention  and  pre 
ference  he  had  shown  her,  and  which  had  gratified  her,  perhaps, 
more  than  she  admitted  to  herself,  seemed  to  her  sensitive  and 
resentful  mind  to  have  been  only  the  cold  instruments  of  jealousy. 
Incapable  as  she  was  of  an  unlawful  passion,  the  unequalled  fas 
cinations  of  Count  Basil  had  silently  found  their  way  to  her  heart, 
and,  if  her  indignation  was  kindled  by  a  sense  of  justice  and 
womanly  pity,  it  was  fed  and  fanned  unaware  by  mortified  pride. 
She  rang,  and  sent  an  order  to  the  gate  that  she  was  to  be 
denied  for  the  future  to  Count  Basil  Spirifort. 

The  servant  had  appeared  with  his  silver  tray  in  his  hand,  and, 
before  leaving  her  presence  to  communicate  the  order,  he  pre 
sented  her  with  a  letter.  Well  foreseeing  the  eclair cissemeMt 
which  must  follow  the  public  scene  in  the  Cascine,  the  Count 
Basil  had  left  the  cafe  for  his  own  palazzo ;  and,  in  a  letter,  of 
which  the  following  is  the  passage  most  important  to  our  story, 
he  revealed,  to  the  lady  he  loved,  a  secret,  which  he  hoped  would 
anticipate  the  common  rumor : — 

:  "  But  these  passionate  words  will  have  offended 
your  ear,  dearest  lady,  and  I  must  pass  to  a  theme  on  which  I 
shall  be  less  eloquent.  You  will  hear  to-night,  perhaps,  that 
which,  with  all  your  imagination,  will  scarce  prepare  you  for 
what  you  will  hear  to-morrow.  The  Marchesa  del  Marmore  is 


222  REVELATION    OF   REASONS. 


the  victim  of  a  revenge  which  has  only  been  second  in  my  heart 
to  the  love  I  have  for  the  first  time  breathed  to  you.  I  can  never 
hope  that  you  will  either  understand,  or  forgive,  the  bitterness  in 
which  it  springs ;  yet  it  is  a  demon  to  which  I  am  delivered,  soul 
and  body,  and  no  spirit  but  my  own  can  know  its  power.  When 
I  have  called  it  by  its  name,  and  told  you  of  its  exasperation,  if 
you  do  not  pardon,  you  will  pity  me. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  a  Russian,  and  you  know  the  station  my 
talents  have  won  me  ;  but  you  do  not  know  that  I  was  born  a  serf 
and  a  slave  !  If  you  could  rend  open  my  heart  and  see  the  pool 
of  blackness  and  bitterness  that  lies  in  its  bottom — fallen,  drop 
by  drop,  from  this  accursed  remembrance — there  would  be  little 
need  to  explain  to  you  how  this  woman  has  offended  me.  Had  I 
been  honorably  boi»n,  like  yourself,  I  feel  that  I  could  have  been, 
like  you,  an  angel  of  light ;  as  it  is,  the  contumely  of  a  look  has 
stirred  me  to  a  revenge  which  has  in  it,  I  do  not  need  to  be 
told,  the  darkest  elements  of  murder. 

"  My  early  history  is  of  no  importance,  yet  I  may  tell  you  it 
was  such  as  to  expose  to  every  wind  this  lacerated  nerve.  In  a 
foreign  land,  and  holding  an  official  rank,  it  was  seldom  breathed 
upon.  I  wore,  mostly,  a  gay  heart  at  Paris.  In  my  late  exile  at 
Venice  I  had  time  to  brood  upon  my  dark  remembrance,  and  it 
was  revived  and  fed  by  the  melancholy  of  my  solitude.  The  ob 
scurity  in  which  I  lived,  and  the  occasional  comparison  between 
myself  and  some  passing  noble  in  the  Piazza,  served  to  remind  me, 
could  I  have  forgotten  it.  I  never  dreamed  of  love  in  this  hum 
ble  disguise,  and  so  never  felt  the  contempt  that  had  most  power 
to  wound  me.  On  receiving  the  letters  of  my  new  appointment, 
however,  this  cautious  humility  did  not  wait  to  be  put  off  with  my 
sombrero.  I  started  for  Florence,  clad  in  the  habiliments  of  pov- 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  223 


erty,  but  with  the  gay  mood  of  a  courtier  beneath.  The  first 
burst  of  my  newly-released  feelings  was  admiration  for  a  woman 
of  singular  beauty,  who  stood  near  me  on  one  of  the  most  love- 
awakening  and  delicious  eves  that  I  ever  remember.  My  heart 
was  overflowing,  and  she  permitted  me  to  breathe  my  passionate 
adoration  in  her  ear.  The  Marchesa  del  Marmore,  but  for  the 
scorn  of  the  succeeding  day,  would,  I  think,  have  been  the  mis 
tress  of  my  soul.  Strangely  enough,  I  had  seen  you  without 
loving  you. 

"  I  have  told  you,  as  a  bagatelle  that  might  amuse  you,  my 
rencontre  with  del  Marmore  and  his  dame  in  the  cathedral  of 
Bologna.  The  look  she  gave  me,  there,  sealed  her  doom.  It  was 
witnessed  by  the  companions  of  my  poverty,  and  the  concentrated 
resentment  of  years  sprang  up  at  the  insult.  Had  it  been  a  man, 
I  must  have  struck  him  dead  where  he  stood :  she  was  a  woman, 
and  I  swore  the  downfall  of  her  pride."  *  *  * 

Thus  briefly  dismissing  the  chief  topic  of  his  letter,  Count  Basil 
returned  to  the  pleading  of  his  love.  It  was  dwelt  on  more  elo 
quently  than  his  revenge  ;  but  as  the  Lady  Geraldine  scarce  read 
it  to  the  end,  it  need  not  retard  the  procession  of  events  in  our 
story.  The  fair  Englishwoman  sat  down  beneath  the  Etruscan 
lamp,  whose  soft  light  illumined  a  brow  cleared,  as  if  by  a  sweep 
from  the  wing  of  her  good  angel,  of  the  troubled  dream  which 
had  overhung  it,  and,  in  brief  and  decided,  but  kind  and  warning 
words,  replied  to  the  letter  of  Count  Basil. 


V. 

It  was  noon  on  the  following  day,  and  the  Contadini  from  the 
hills  were  settling  to  their  siesta  on  the  steps  of  the  churches,  and 


224  A    WOMAN'S    DOWNFALL. 


against  the  columns  of  the  Piazza  del  Gran'  Duea.  The  artists 
alone,  in  the  cool  gallery,  and  in  the  tempered  halls  of  the  Pitti, 
shook  off  the  drowsiness  of  the  hour,  and  strained  sight  and  thought 
upon  the  immortal  canvas  from  which  they  drew ;  while  the 
sculptor,  in  his  brightening  studio,  weary  of  the  mallet,  yet  exci 
ted  by  the  bolder  light,  leaned  on  the  rough  block  behind  him, 
and,  with  listless  body  but  wakeful  and  fervent  eye,  studied  the 
last  touches  upon  his  marble. 

Prancing  hoofs,  and  the  sharp  quick  roll  peculiar  to  the  wheels 
of  carriages  of  pleasure,  awakened  the  aristocratic  sleepers  of 
the  Via  del  Servi,  and  with  a  lash  and  jerk  of  violence,  the 
coachman  of  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore,  enraged  at  the  loss  of 
his  noonday  repose,  brought  up  her  showy  caleche  at  the  door  of 
Count  Basil  Spirifort.  The  fair  occupant  of  that  luxurious  vehi 
cle  was  pale,  but  the  brightness  of  joy  and  hope  burned  almost 
fiercely  in  her  eye. 

The  doors  flew  open  as  the  Marchesa  descended,  and,  following 
a  servant  in  the  Count's  livery,  of  whom  she  asked  no  question, 
she  found  herself  in  a  small  saloon,  furnished  with  the  peculiar 
luxury  which  marks  the  apartment  of  a  bachelor,  and  darkened 
like  a  painter's  room.  The  light  came  in  from  a  single  tall  win 
dow,  curtained  below,  and  under  it  stood  an  easel,  at  which,  on 
her  first  entrance,  a  young  man  stood  sketching  the  outline  of  a 
female  head.  As  she  advanced,  looking  eagerly  around  for  another 
face,  the  artist  laid  down  his  palette,  and,  with  a  low  reverence 
presented  her  with  a  note  from  Count  Basil.  It  informed  her 
that  political  news  of  the  highest  importance  had  called  him  sud 
denly  to  the  cabinet  of  his  chef,  but  that  he  hoped  to  be  with  her 
soon ;  and,  meantime,  he  begged  of  her,  as  a  first  favor  in  his 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOR  BASIL.  225 


newly-prospered  love,  to  bless  him  with  the  possession  of  her 
portrait,  done  by  the  incomparable  artist  who  would  receive  her. 

Disappointment  and  vexation  overwhelmed  the  heart  of  the 
Marchesa,  and  she  burst  into  tears.  She  read  the  letter  again, 
and  grew  calmer ;  for  it  was  laden  with  epithets  of  endearment, 
and  seemed  to  her  written  in  the  most  sudden  haste.  Never 
doubting  for  an  instant  the  truth  of  his  apology,  she  removed  her 
hat,  and,  with  a  look  at  the  deeply-shaded  mirror,  while  she 
shook  out  from  their  confinement  the  masses  of  her  luxuriant 
hair,  she  approached  the  painter's  easel,  and,  with  a  forced  cheer 
fulness,  inquired  in  what  attitude  she  should  sit  to  him. 

"  If  the  Signora  will  amuse  herself,"  he  replied,  with  a  bow, 
"  it  will  be  easy  to  compose  the  picture,  and  seize  the  expression 
without  annoying  her  with  a  pose." 

Relieved  thus  of  any  imperative  occupation,  the  unhappy 
Marchesa  seated  herself  by  a  table  of  intaglios  and  prints,  and, 
while  she  apparently  occupied  herself  in  the  examination  of  these 
specimens  of  art,  she  was  delivered,  as  her  tormentor  had  well 
anticipated,  to  the  alternate  tortures  of  impatience  and  remorse. 
And  while  the  hours  wore  on,  and  her  face  paled,  and  her  eyes 
grew  bloodshot  with  doubt  and  fear,  the  skilful  painter,  forgetting 
everything  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  art,  and  forgotten  utterly  by 
his  unconscious  subject,  transferred  too  faithfully  to  the  canvas 
that  picture  of  agonized  expectation. 

The  afternoon,  meantime,  had  worn  away,  and  the  gay  world 
of  Florence,  from  the  side  toward  Fiesole,  rolled  past  the  Via 
dei  Servi  on  their  circuitous  way  to  the  Cascine,  and  saw,  with 
dumb  astonishment,  the  carriage  and  liveries  of  the  Marchesa  del 
Marmore  at  the  door  of  Count  Basil  Spirifort.  On  they  swept 
by  the  Via  Mercata  Nova  to  the  Lung'  Arno,  and  there  their 


226  RETRIBUTION. 


astonishment  redoubled :  for,  in  the  window  of  the  Casino  dei 
Nobili,  playing  with  a  billiard- cue,  and  laughing  with  a  group  of 
lounging  exquisites,  stood  Count  Basil  himself,  the  most  unoc 
cupied  and  listless  of  sunset  idlers.  There  was  but  one  deduction 
to  be  drawn  from  this  sequence  of  events  ;  and,  when  they  remem 
bered  the  demonstration  of  passionate  jealousy  on  the  previous 
evening  in  the  Cascine,  Count  Basil,  evidently  innocent  of 
participation  in  her  paSsion,  was  deemed  a  persecuted  man, 
and  the  Marchesa  del  Marmore  was  lost  to  herself  and  the 
world ! 

Three  days  after  this  well-remembered  circumstance  in  the 
history  of  Florence,  an  order  was  received  from  the  Grand-Duke 
to  admit  into  the  exhibition  of  modern  artists  a  picture  by  a 
young  Venetian  painter,  an  eleve  of  Count  Basil  Spirifort.  It 
was  called  "  The  Lady  expecting  an  Inconstant,"  and  had  been 
pronounced  by  a  virtuoso,  who  had  seen  it  on  private  view,  to  be 
a  masterpiece  of  expression  and  color.  It  was  instantly  and 
indignantly  recognised  as  the  portrait  of  the  unfortunate 
Marchesa,  whose  late  abandonment  of  her  husband  was  fresh 
on  the  lips  of  common  rumor ;  but,  ere  it  could  be  officially 
removed,  the  circumstance  had  been  noised  abroad,  and  the 
picture  had  been  seen  by  all  the  curious  in  Florence.  The  order 
for  its  removal  was  given ;  but  the  purpose  of  Count  Basil  had 
been  effected,  and  the  name  of  the  unhappy  Marchesa  had  become 
a  jest  on  the  vulgar  tongue. 

This  tale  had  not  been  told,  had  there  not  been  more  than  a 
common  justice  in  its  sequel.     The  worse  passions  of  men,  h 
common  life,  are  sometimes  inscrutably  prospered.     The  reven< 
of  Count  Basil,  however,  was  betrayed  by  the  last  act  which  coi 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  SIGNOH  BASIL. 

pleted  it;  and,  while  the  victim  of  his  fiendish  resentment  finds  a 
peaceful  asylum  in  England  under  the  roof  of  the  compassionate 
Lady  Geraldine,  the  once  gay  and  admired  Russian  wanders  from 
city  to  city,  followed  by  an  evil  reputation,  and  stamped  unac 
countably  as  a  jattatore* 

*  A  man  with  an  eril  eye. 


LOVE  AND  DIPLOMACY, 


"  Pray  pardon  me, 

For  I  am  like  a  boy  that  hath  found  money- 
Afraid  I  dream  still." 

FORD  OB  WEBSTER. 

IT  was  on  a  fine  September  evening,  within  my  time  (and  I  am 

not,  I  trust,  too  old  to  be  loved),  that  Count  Anatole  L ,  of 

the  impertinent  and  particularly  useless  profession  of  attache, 
walked  up  and  down  before  the  glass  in  his  rooms  at  the  "  Arch 
duke  Charles,"  the  first  hotel,  as  you  know,  if  you  have  travelled 
in  the  green-belted  and  fair  city  of  Vienna.  The  brass  ring  was 
still  swinging  on  the  end  of  the  bell-rope,  and,  in  a  respectfu 
attitude  at  the  door,  stood  the  just-summoned  Signor  Attilio,  valei 
and  privy  councillor  to  one  of  the  handsomest  coxcombs  erran 
through  the  world.  Signor  Attilio  was  a  Tyrolese,  and,  like  hi 
master,  was  very  handsome. 

Count  Anatole  had  been  idling  away  three  golden  summe 
months  in  the  Tyrol,  for  the  sole  purpose,  as  far  as  mortal  eye 
could  see,  of  disguising  his  fine  Phidian  features  in  a  callow 
mustache  and  whiskers.  The  crines  ridentes  (as  Eneas  Sylviu 


LOVE  AND   DIPLOMACY.  229 


has  it)  being  now  in  a  condition  beyond  improvement,  Signer 
Attilio  bad,  for  some  days,  been  ratber  curious  to  know  what 
course  of  events  would  next  occupy  the  diplomatic  talents  of  his 
master. 

After  a  turn  or  two  more,  taken  in  silence,  Count  Anatole 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and,  eying  the  well-made 
Tyrolese  from  head  >  to  foot,  begged  to  know  if  he  wore  at 
the  present  moment  his  most  becoming  breeches,  jacket,  and 
beaver. 

Attilio  was  never  astonished  at  anything  his  master  did  or  said. 
He  simply  answered,  "  Si,  signorc." 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  strip  immediately,  and  dress  yourself  in  that 
travelling  suit  lying  on  the  sofa." 

As  the  green,  gold-corded  jacket,  knee-breeches,  buckles,  and 
stockings,  were  laid  aside,  Count  Anatole  threw  off  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  commenced  encasing  his  handsome  proportions  in  the 
cast-off  habiliments.  He  then  put  on  the  conical,  slouch-rimmed 
hat,  with  the  tall  eagle  Vfeather  stuck  jauntily  on  the  side,  and 
the  two  rich  tassels  pendant  over  his  left  eye ;  and,  the  toilet  of 
the  valet  being  completed,  at  the  same  moment,  they  stood  look 
ing  at  one  another  with  perfect  gravity — rather  transformed,  but 
each  apparently  quite  at  home  in  his  new  character. 

"  You  look  very  like  a  gentleman,  Attilio,"  said  the  Count, 

'*  Your  Excellency  has  caught  to  admiration,  Varia  del  paese," 
complimented  back  again  the  sometime  Tyrolese. 

"  Attilio !" 

"  Signore  !" 

"  Do  you  remember  the  lady  in  the  forest  of  Friuli  ?" 

Attilio  began  to  have  a  glimmering  of  things.  Some  three 
months  before,  the  Count  was  dashing  on  at  a  rapid  post-pace 


230  FATAL  ACCIDENT  AND  LOVE. 


through  a  deep  wood  in  the  mountains  which  head  in  the  Adriatic. 
A  sudden  pull-up  at  a  turning  in  the  road  nearly  threw  him  from 
his  britska  ;  and,  looking  out  at  the  "  anima  di  porco  /"  of  the  pos 
tilion,  he  found  his  way  impeded  by  an  overset  carriage,  from 
which  three  or  four  servants  were  endeavoring  to  extract  the  body 
of  an  old  man,  killed  by  the  accident. 

There  was  more  attractive  metal  for  the  traveller,  however 
in  the  shape  of  a  young  and  beautiful  woman,  leaning  pale  am 
faint  against  a  tree,  and  apparently  about  to  sink  to  the  ground 
unassisted.  To  bring  a  hat  full  of  water  from  the  nearest  brook 
and  receive  her  falling  head  on  his  shoulder,  was  the  work  of  a 
thought.  She  had  fainted  away,  and  taking  her,  like  a  child 
into  his  arms,  he  placed  her  on  a  bank,  by  the  road-side,  bathe 
her  forehead  and  lips,  and  chafed  her  small  white  hands,  till  hi 
heart,  with  all  the  distress  of  the  scene,  was  quite  mad  with  he: 
perfect  beauty. 

Animation,  at  last  began  to  return,  and  as  the  flush  was  steal 
ing  into  her  lips,  another  carriage  drove  up  with  servants  in  the 
same  livery,  and  Count  Anatole,  thoroughly  bewildered  in  hi 
new  dream,  mechanically  assisted  them  in  getting  their  living  mis 
tress  and  dead  master  into  it ;  and  until  they  were  fairly  out  o; 
sight,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him,  that  he  might  possibly  wish 
to  know  the  name  and  condition  of  the  fairest  piece  of  work  he 
had  ever  seen  from  the  hands  of  his  Maker. 

An  hour  before,  he  had  doubled  his  bono  mano  to  the  postilion, 
and  was  driving  on  to  Vienna  as  if  to  sit  at  a  new  Congress. 
Now,  he  stood  leaning  against  the  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  the 
grass  and  wild  flowers  showed  the  print  of  a  new  made  pressure, 
and  the  postilion  cracked  his  whip,  and  Attilio  reminded  him  of 
the  hour  he  was  losing,  in  vain. 


LOVE  AND  DIPLOMACY.  231 


He  remounted  after  a  while  ;  but  the  order  was  to  go  back  to 
the  last  post-house. 

Three  or  four  months  at  a  solitary  albergo  in  the  neighborhood 
of  this  adventure,  passed  by  the  Count  in  scouring  the  country  on 
horseback  in  every  direction,  and  by  his  servant  in  very  particu 
lar  ennui,  brings  up  the  story  nearly  to  where  the  scene  opens. 

"  I  have  seen  her  !"  said  the  Count. 

Attilio  only  lifted  up  his  eyebrows. 

"  She  is  here,  in  Vienna  ?" 

"  Felice  lei  /"  murmured  Attilio. 

"  She  is  the  Princess  Leichstenfels,  and,  by  the  death  of  that 
old  man,  a  widow." 

"  Veramente  /"  responded  the  valet,  with  a  rising  inflexion, 
for  he  knew  his  master  and  French  morals  too  well,  not  to  fore 
see  a  damper  in  the  possibility  of  matrimony. 

"  Veramente  !"  gravely  echoed  the  Count.  "  And  now  listen. 
The  princess  lives  in  close  retirement.  An  old  friend  or  two, 
and  a  tried  servant,  are  the  only  persons  who  see  her.  You  are 
to  contrive  to  see  this  servant  to-morrow,  corrupt  him  to  leave 
her,  and  recommend  me  in  his  place,  and  then  you  are  to  take 
him  as  your  courier  to  Paris  ;  whence,  if  I  calculate  well,  you 
will  return  to  me  before  long,  with  important  despatches.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?" 

"  Signor,  si.'" 

In  the  small  boudoir  of  a  masion  de  plaisance,  belonging  to  the 
noble  family  of  Leichstenfels,  sat  the  widowed  mistress  of  one  of 
the  oldest  titles  and  finest  estates  of  Austria.  The  light  from  a 
single  long  window,  opening  down  to  the  floor,  and  leading  out 
upon  a  terrace  of  flowers,  was  subdued  by  a  heavy,  crimson  cur 
tain,  looped  partially  away  ;  a  pastille  lamp  was  sending  up  from 


232  MASTER    AND    MAN. 


its  porphyry  pedestal  a  thin,  and  just  perceptible  curl  of  smoke, 
through  which  the  lady  musingly  passed  backward  and  forward 
one  of  her  slender  fingers ;  and,  on  a  table  near,  lay  a  sheet  of 
black-edged  paper,  crossed  by  a  small,  silver  pen,  and  scrawled 
over  irregularly  with  devices  and  disconnected  words,  the  work 
evidently  of  a  fit  of  the  most  absolute  and  listless  idleness. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  servant  in  mourning  livery  stood  before 
the  lady. 

"  I  have  thought  over  your  request,  Wilhelm,"  she  said.  "  I 
had  become  accustomed  to  your  services,  and  regret  to  lose  you ; 
but  I  should  regret  more  to  stand  in  the  way  of  your  interest. 
You  have  my  permission." 

Wilhelm  expressed  his  thanks  with  an  effort  that  showed 
had  not  obeyed  the  call  of  Mammon  without  regret,  and  reque 
ed    leave    to    introduce    the    person  he    had   proposed    as 
successor. 

"  Of  what  country  is  he  ?" 

"  Tyrolese,  your  Excellency." 

"  Any  why  does  he  leave  the  gentleman  with  whom  he  came 
Vienna  ?" 

li  II  est  amoureux  d'une  Viennaise^  madame^  answered  the 
valet,  resorting  to  French  to  express  what  he  considered  a  deli 
cate  circumstance. 

"  Pauvre  enfant!"  said  the  Princess,  with  a  sigh  that  partool 
as  much  of  envy  as  of  pity  ;  let  him  come  in !" 

And  the  Count  Anatole,  as  the  sweet  accents  reached  his 
stepped  over  the  threshold,  and  in  the  coarse,  but  gay  dress 
the  Tyrol,  stood  in  the  presence  of  her,  whose  dewy  temples 
had  bathed  in  the  forest,  whose  lips  he  had  almost  "  pryed  int 
for  breath,"  whose  snowy  hands  he  had  chafed  and  kissed  wl 


LOVE    AND   DIPLOMACY.  333 


the  senses  had  deserted  their  celestial  organs — the  angel  of  his 
perpetual  dream,  the  lady  of  his  wild  and  uncontrollable,  but  re 
spectful  and  honorable  love. 

The  Princess  looked  carelessly  up  as  he  approached,  but  her 
eyes  seemed  arrested  in  passing  over  his  features.  It  was  but 
momentary.  She  resumed  her  occupation  of  winding  her  taper 
fingers  in  the  smoke-curls  of  the  incense-lamp,  and,  with  half  a 
sigh,  as  if  she  had  repelled  a  pleasing  thought,  she  leaned  back 
in  the  silken  fauteuil,  and  asked  the  new-comer  his  name. 

"  Anatole,  your  Excellency." 

The  voice  again  seemed  to  stir  something  in  her  memory.  She 
passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  was  for  a  moment  lost  in 
thought. 

"  Anatole,"  she  said  (oh,  how  the  sound  of  his  own  name, 
murmured  in  that  voice  of  music,  thrilled  through  the  fiery  veins 
of  the  disguised  lover  !)  "  Anatole,  I  receive  you  into  my  service. 
Wilhelm  will  inform  you  of  your  duties,  and — I  have  a  fancy  for 
the  dress  of  the  Tyrol — you  may  wear  it  instead  of  my  livery,  if 
you  will." 

And,  with  one  stolen  and  warm  gaze  from  under  his  drooping 
eyelids,  and  heart  and  lips  on  fire,  as  he  thanked  her  for  her  con 
descension,  the  new  retainer  took  his  leave. 

Month  after  month  passed  on — to  Count  Anatole  in  a  bewil 
dering  dream  of  ever-deepening  passion.  It  was  upon  a  soft  and 
amorous  morning  of  April,  that  a  dashing  equipage  stood  at  the 

door  of  the  proud  palace  of  Lichstenfels.  The  arms  of  E 

blazed  on  the  panels,  and  the  insouciant s  chasseurs  leaned  against 
the  marble  columns  of  the  portico,  waiting  for  their  master,  and 
speculating  on  the  gaiety  likely  to  ensue  from  the  suite  he  was 


234  SERVING  A  RIVAL. 

prosecuting  within.  How  could  a  princ  e  of  E be  supposed 

to  sue  in  vain  ? 

The  disguised  footinan  had  ushered  the  gay  and  handsome  no 
bleman  to  his  mistress's  presence.  After  re-arranging  a  family  of 
very  well-arranged  flower  pots,  shutting  the  window  to  open  it 
again,  changing  the  folds  of  the  curtain  not  at  all  for  the  better, 
and  looking  a  stolen  and  fierce  look  at  the  unconscious  visitor,  he 
could  find  no  longer  an  apology  for  remaining  in  the  room.  He 
shut  the  door  after  him  in  a  tempest  of  jealousy. 

"  Did  your  Excellency  ring  ?"  said  he,  opening  the  door  again 
after  a  few  minutes  of  intolerable  torture. 

The  Prince  was  on  his  knees  at  her  feet ! 

u  No,  Anatole  ;  but  you  may  bring  me  a  glass  of  water." 

As  he  entered,  with  a  silver  tray  trembling  in  his  hand,  the 
Prince  was  rising  to  go.  His  face  expressed  delight,  hope, 
triumph — everything  that  could  madden  the  soul  of  the  irritated 
lover.  After  waiting  on  his  rival  to  his  carriage,  he  returned  to 
his  mistress,  and,  receiving  the  glass  upon  the  tray,  was  about 
leaving  the  room  in  silence,  when  the  Princess  called  to  him. 

In  all  this  lapse  of  time,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Count 
Anatole  played  merely  his  footman's  part.  His  respectful  and 
elegant  demeanor,  the  propriety  of  his  language,  and  that  deep 
devotedness  of  manner  which  wins  a  woman  more  than  all  things 
else,  soon  gained  upon  the  confidence  of  the  Princess  ;  and  before 
a  week  was  passed,  she  found  that  she  was  happier  when  he  stood 
behind  her  chair,  and  gave  him,  with  some  self-denial,  those  fre 
quent  permissions  of  absence  from  the  palace,  which  she  supposed 
he  asked  to  prosecute  the  amour  disclosed  to  her  on  his  introduc 
tion  to  her  service.  As  time  flew  on,  she  attributed  his  earnest- 


LOVE  AND   DIPLOMACY.  235 


ness,  and  occasional  warmth  of  manner,  to  gratitude  ;  and,  with 
out  reasoning  much  on  her  feelings,  gave  herself  up  to  the  indul 
gence  of  a  degree  of  interest  in  him  which  would  have  alarmed 
a  woman  more  skilled  in  the  knowledge  of  the  heart.  Married 
from  a  convent,  however,  to  an  old  man,  who  had  secluded  her 
from  the  world,  the  voice  of  the  passionate  Count  in  the  forest  of 
Friuli  was  the  first  sound  of  love  that  had  ever  entered  her  ears. 
She  knew  not  why  it  was  that  the  tones  of  her  new  footman,  and 
now  and  then  a  look  of  his  eyes,  as  he  leaned  over  to  assist  her  at 
table,  troubled  her  memory  like  a  trace  of  a  long-lost  dream. 

But,  oh,  what  moments  had  been  his,  in  these  fleeting  months  ! 
Admitted  to  her  presence  in  her  most  unguarded  hours — seeing 
her  at  morning,  at  noon,  at  night,  in  all  her  unstudied,  and  sur 
passing  loveliness — for  ever  near  her,  and  with  the  world  shut  out 
— her  rich  hair  blowing,  with  the  lightest  breeze,  across  his  fin 
gers  in  his  assiduous  service — her  dark,  full  eyes,  unconscious  of 
an  observer,  filling  with  unrepressed  tears,  or  glowing  with  plea 
sure  over  some  tale  of  love — her  exquisite  form  flung  upon  a 
couch,  or  bending  over  flowers,  or  moving  about  the  room  in  all 
its  native  and  untrammelled  grace — and  her  voice,  tender,  most 
tender,  to  him,  though  she  knew  it  not,  and  her  eyes,  herself  un 
aware,  ever  following  him  in  his  loitering  attendance — and  he, 
the  while,  losing  never  a  glance  nor  a  motion,  but  treasuring  all 
up  in  his  heart  with  the  avarice  of  a  miser — what,  in  common 
life,  though  it  were  the  life  of  fortune's  most  favored  child,  could 
compare  with  it  for  bliss  ? 

Pale  and  agitated,  the  Count  turned  back  at  the  call  of  his 
mistress,  and  stood  waiting  her  pleasure  ? 
"  Anatole !" 


236  THE  NEW  AMBASSADOR. 


"  Madame  !" 

The  answer  was  so  low,  and  deep,  it  startled  even  himself. 

She  motioned  him  to  come  nearer.  She  had  sunk  upon  the 
sofa,  and,  as  he  stood  at  her  feet,  she  leaned  forward,  buried  her 
hands  and  arms  in  the  long  curls  which,  in  her  retirement,  she  al 
lowed  to  float  luxuriantly  over  her  shoulders,  and  sobbed  aloud. 
Overcome,  and  forgetful  of  all  but  the  distress  of  the  lovely  crea 
ture  before  him,  the  Count  dropped  upon  the  cushion  on  which 
rested  the  small  foot  in  its  mourning  slipper,  and,  taking  her  hand, 
pressed  it  suddenly  and  fervently  to  his  lips. 

The  reality  broke  upon  her  !  She  was  beloved — but  by  whom  ? 
A  menial !  and  the  appalling  answer  drove  all  the  blood  of  her 
proud  race  in  a  torrent  upon  her  heart,  sweeping  away  all  affec 
tion  as  if  her  nature  had  never  known  its  name.  She  sprang  to 
her  feet,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  bell. 

"  Madame  !"  said  Anatole,  in  a  cold,  proud  tone. 

She  stayed  her  arm  to  listen. 

"  I  leave  you  for  ever." 

And  again,  with  the  quick  revulsion  of  youth  and  passion,  her 
woman's  heart  rose  within  her,  and  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  dropped  her  head  in  utter  abandonment  on  her  bosom. 

It  was  the  birthday  of  the  Emperor,  and  the  courtly  nobles  of 
Austria  were  rolling  out  from  the  capital  to  offer  their  congratu 
lations  at  the  royal  Palace  of  Schoenbrunn.     In  addition  to  the 
usual  attractions  of  the  scene,  the  drawing-room  was  to  be  grace( 
by  the  first  public  appearance  of  a  new  Ambassador,  whose 
puted  personal  beauty,  and  the  talents  he  had  displayed  in  a  lat 
secret  negotiation,  had  set  the  whole   Court,  from  the  Queen 
Hungary,  to  the  youngest  dame  d'konneur,  in  a  flame  of  curiosit 


LOVE    AND    DIPLOMACY.  337 

To  the  Prince  E there  was  another  reason  for  writing  the 

lay  in  red  letters.  The  Princess  Leichstenfels,  by  an  express 
message  from  the  Empress,  was  to  throw  aside  her  widow's  weeds, 
and  appear  once  more  to  the  admiring  world.  She  had  yielded 
to  the  summons,  but  it  was  to  be  her  last  day  of  splendor.  Hoi- 
heart  and  hand  were  plighted  to  her  Tyrolese  minion  ;  and  the 
brightest  and  loveliest  ornament  of  the  Court  of  Austria,  when 
the  ceremonies  of  the  day  were  over,  was  to  lay  aside  the  costly 
bauble  from  her  shoulder,  and  the  glittering  tiara  from  her  brow, 
and  forget  rank  and  fortune  as  the  wife  of  his  bosom  ! 

The  dazzling  hours  flew  on.  The  plain  and  kind  old  Emperor 
welcomed  and  smiled  upon  all.  The  wily  Metternich,  in  the 
prime  of  his  successful  manhood,  cool,  polite,  handsome,  and 
whining,  gathered  golden  opinions  by  every  word  and  look  ;  the 
young  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  the  mild  and  gentle  son  of  the  struck 
eagle  of  St.  Helena,  surrounded  and  caressed  by  a  continual  cor 
don  of  admiring  women,  seemed  forgetful  that  Opportunity  and 
Expectation  awaited  him,  like  two  angels  with  their  wings  out- 
i  spread  ;  and  haughty  nobles  and  their  haughtier  dames,  statesmen, 
scholars,  soldiers,  and  priests,  crowded  upon  each  other's  heels, 
and  mixed  together  in  that  doubtful  podrida^  which  goes  by  the 
name  of  pleasure.  I  could  moralize  here,  had  I  time  ! 

The  Princess  of  Leichstenfels  had  gone  through  the  ceremony 
of  presentation,  and  had  heard  the  murmur  of  admiration,  drawn 
by  her  beauty,  from  all  lips.  Dizzy  with  the  scene,  and  with  a 
bosom  full  of  painful  and  conflicting  emotions,  she  had  accepted 

the  proffered  arm  of  Prince  E to  breathe  a  fresher  air  upon 

the  terrace.  They  stood  near  a  window,  and  he  was  pointing  out 
to  his  fair,  but  inattentive  companion,  the  various  characters  as 
they  passed  within. 


238  A   SURPRISE. 


"  I  must  contrive,"  said  the  Prince,  "  to  sliow  you  the  new 
Envoy.  Oh  !  you  have  not  heard  of  him.  Beautiful  as  Narcis 
sus,  modest  as  Pastor  Corydon,  clever  as  the  Prime  Minister 
himself,  this  paragon  of  diplomatists  has  been  here  in  disguise 
these  three  months — negotiating  about  Metternich  and  the  devil 
knows  what — but  rewarded  at  last  with  an  Ambassador's  star,  and 
— but  here  he  is :  Princess  Leichstenfels,  permit  me  to  pre 
sent—" 

She  heard  no  more.  A  glance  from  the  diamond  star  on  his 
breast,  to  the  Hephaestion  mouth,  and  keen,  dark  eye  of  Count 
Anatole,  revealed  to  her  the  mystery  of  months.  And,  as  she 
leaned  against  the  window  for  support,  the  hand  that  sustained 
her  in  the  forest  of  Friuli,  and  the  same  thrilling  voice,  in  almost 
the  same  never-forgotten  cadence,  offered  his  impassioned  sympa 
thy  and  aid — and  she  recognized  and  remembered  all. 

I  must  go  back  so  far  as  to  inform  you,  that  Count  Anatole,  on 
the  morning  of  this  memorable  day,  had  sacrificed  a  silky  but  pru 
rient  moustache,  and  a  pair  of  the  very  sauciest  dark  whiskers  out 

of  Coventry.     Whether  the  Prince  E recognized,  in  the  ne 

Envoy,  the  lady's  gentleman  who  so  inopportunely  broke  in  u 
his  tender  avowal,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say.     I  only  know  (for 
was  there)  that  the  Princess  Leichstenfels  was  wedded  to  the 
new  Ambassador  in  the  "  leafy  month  of  June  ;"  and  the  Prince 

E ,  unfortunately  prevented  by  illness  from  attending   the 

nuptials,   lost   a   very   handsome    opportunity   of    singing    wit 
effect — 


"  If  she  be  not  fair  for  me"— 


supposing  it  translated  into  German. 

Whether  the  enamored  Ambassadress  prefers  her  husband  : 


LOYE  AND   DIPLOMACY.  339 


his  new  character,  I  am  equally  uncertain  ;  though,  from  much 
knowledge  of  German  Courts  and  a  little  of  human  nature,  I  think 
she  will  be  happy,  if,  at  some  future  day.  she  would  not  willingly 
exchange  her  proud  envoy  for  the  devoted  Tyrolese,  and  does  not 
sigh  that  she  can  no  more  bring  him  to  her  feet  with  a  pull  of  a 
silken  string. 


THE  MAD  HOUSE  OF  PALERMO, 


HE  who  has  not  skimmed  over  the  silvery  waters  of  the  Lipari, 
with  a  summer  breeze  right  from  Italy  in  his  topsails,  the  smoke 
of  Stroraboli  alone  staining  the  unfathomable-looking  blue  of  the 
sky,  and,  as  the  sun  dipped  his  naming  disk  in  the  sea,  put  up  his 
helm  for  the  bosom  of  La  Concha  d^Oro — the  Golden  Shell,  a 
they  beautifully  call  the  bay  of  Palermo — he  who  has  not  thu 
entered,  I  say,  to  the  fairest  spot  on  the  face  of  this  very  fair 
earth,  has  a  leaf  worth  the  turning  in  his  book  of  observation. 

In  ten  minutes  after  dropping  the  anchor,  with  sky  and  wate 
still  in  a  glow,  the  men  were  all  out  of  the  rigging,  the  spars  o ! 
the  tall  frigate  were  like  lines  pencilled  on  the  sky,  the  bam 
played  inspiringly  on  the  deck,  and  every  boat  along  the  ga; ' 
Marina  was  freighted  with  fair  Palermitans  on  its  way  to  the 
stranger  ship. 

I  was  standing  with  the  omcer-of-the-deck,  by  the  capstan 
looking  at  the  first  star,  which  had  just  sprung  into  its  place  like 
a  thing  created  with  a  glance  of  the  eye. 

"  Shall  we  let  the  ladies  aboard,  sir  ?"  said  a  smiling  middy, 
coming  aft  from  the  gangway. 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  tell  the  boatswain's  mate  to  clear  away  for  a 
dance  on  the  quarter-deck." 


THE  MAD  HOUSE  OF  PALERMO.         241 


In  most  of  the  ports  of  the  Mediterranean,  a  ship-of-war,  on  a 
summer  cruise,  is  as  welcome  as  the  breeze  from  the  sea.  Bring 
ing  with  her  forty  or  fifty  gay  young  officers  overcharged  with  life 
and  spirits,  a  band  of  music  never  so  well  occupied  as  when  play 
ing  for  a  dance,  and  a  deck  whiter  and  smoother  than  a  ball-room 
floor,  the  warlike  vessel  seems  made  for  a  scene  of  pleasure. 
Whatever  her  nation,  she  no  sooner  drops  her  anchor,  than  she  is 
surrounded  by  boats  from  the  shore  ;  and  when  the  word  is 
passed  for  admission,  her  gangway  is  crowded  with  the  mirth -lov 
ing  and  warm  people  of  these  southern  climes,  as  much  at  home 
on  board,  and  as  ready  to  enter  into  any  scheme  of  amusement, 
as  the  maddest-brained  midshipman  could  desire. 

The  companion-hatch  was  covered  with  its  grating,  lest  some 
dizzy  waltzer  should  drop  his  partner  into  the  steerage,  the  band 
got  out  their  music-stand,  and  the  bright  buttons  were  soon  whirl 
ing  round  from  larboard  to  starboard,  with  forms  in  their  clasp, 
and  dark  eyes  glowing  over  their  shoulders,  that  might  have 
tempted  the  devil  out  of  Stromboli. 

Being  only  a  passenger  myself,  I  was  contented  with  sitting  on 

the  side  of  a  carronade,  and,  with  the  music  in  my  ear,  and  the 

twilight  flush  deepening  in  the  fine-traced  angles  of  the  rigging, 

abandoning  myself  to  the  delicious  listlessness  with  which  the  very 

;  air  is  pregnant  in  these  climates  of  Paradise. 

The  light  feet  slid  by,  and  the  waltz,  the  gallopade,  and  the 
mazurka,  had  followed  each  other  till  it  was  broad  moonlight  on 
the  decks.  It  was  like  a  night  without  an  atmosphere,  the  ra 
diant  flood  poured  down  with  such  an  invisible  and  moonlike 
clearness. 

"  Do  you  see  the  lady  leaning  on  that  old  gentleman's  arm  by 


242  INTERESTING    VISITOR. 

the  hammock-rail  ?"  said  the  first  lieutenant,  who  sat  upon  the 
next  gun — like  myself  a  spectator  of  the  scene. 

I  had  remarked  her  well.  She  had  been  in  the  ship  five  or  ten 
minutes,  and,  in  that  time,  it  seemed  to  me,  I  had  drunk  her 
beauty,  even  to  intoxication.  The  frigate  was  slowly  swinging 
round  to  the  land  breeze,  and  the  moon,  from  drawing  the  curved 
line  of  a  gipsy-shaped  capella  di  paglia  with  bewitching  conceal 
ment  across  her  features,  gradually  fell  full  upon  the  dark  limit 
of  her  orbed  forehead.  Heaven !  what  a  vision  of  beauty ! 
Solemn,  and  full  of  subdued  pain  as  the  countenance  seemed,  it 
was  radiant  with  an  almost  supernatural  light  of  mind.  Thought 
and  feeling  seemed  steeped  into  every  line.  Her  mouth  was 
large— the  only  departure  from  the  severest  model  of  the  Greek 

and  stamped  with  calmness,  as  if  it  had  been  a  legible  word 

upon  her  lips.  But  her  eyes— what  can  I  say  of  their  unnatural 
lightning— of  the  depth,  the  fulness,  the  wild  and  maniac-like 
passionateness  of  their  every  look  ? 

My  curiosity  was  strongly  moved.  I  walked  aft  to  the  cap 
stan,  and,  throwing  off  my  habitual  reserve  with  some  effort,  ap 
proached  the  old  gentleman  on  whose  arm  she  leaned,  and  begged 
permission  to  lead  her  out  for  a  waltz. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  carissima  mia  .'"  said  he,  turning  to  her  with 
all  the  tenderness  in  his  tone  of  which  the  honeyed  language  of 
Italy  is  capable. 

But  she  clung  to  his  arm  with  startled  closeness,  and  without 
even  looking  at  me,  turned  her  lips  up  to  his  ear,  and  murmured, 

"  Mai  piu  /" 

At  my  request  the  officer  on  duty  paid  them  the  compliment 
of  sending  them  ashore  in  one  of  the  frigate's  boats ;  and,  after 
assisting  them  down  the  ladder,  I  stood  upon  the  broad  stair  on 


THE  MAD  HOUSE  OF  PALERMO.  343 


the  level  of  the  water,  and  watched  the  phosphoric  wake  of  the 
swift  cutter  till  the  bright  sparkles  were  lost  amid  the  vessels 
nearer  land.  The  coxswain  reported  the  boat's  return  ;  but  all 
that  belonged  to  the  ship  had  not  conie  back  in  her.  My  heart 
was  left  behind. 

The  next  morning  there  was  the  usual  bustle  in  the  gun-room 
preparatory  to  going  ashore.  Glittering  uniforms  lay  about  upon 
the  chairs  and  tables,  sprinkled  with  swords,  epaulettes,  and 
cocked  hats  ;  very  well-brushed  boots  were  sent  to  be  re-brushed, 
and  very  nice  coats  to  be  made,  if  possible,  to  look  nicer ;  the 
ship's  barber  was  cursed  for  not  having  the  hands  of  Briareus,  and 
no  good  was  wished  to  the  eyes  of  the  washerwoman  of  the  last 
port  where  the  frigate  had  anchored.  Cologne-water  was  in  great 
request,  and  the  purser  had  an  uncommon  number  of  "  private 
interviews." 

Amid  all  the  bustle,  the  question  of  how  to  pass  the  day  was 
busily  agitated.  Twenty  plans  were  proposed  ;  but  the  sequel — 
a  dinner  at  the  Hotel  Anglais,  and  a  "  stroll  for  a  lark"  after  it 
— was  the  only  point  on  which  the  speakers  were  quite  unani 
mous. 

One  proposition  was  to  go  to  Bagaria,  and  see  the  palace  of 
Monsters.  This  is  a  villa  about  ten  miles  from  Palermo,  which 
the  owner,  Count  Pallagonia,  and  an  eccentric  Sicilian  noble,  has 
ornamented  with  some  hundreds  of  statues  of  the  finest  work 
manship,  representing  the  form  of  woman,  in  every  possible  com 
bination  with  beasts,  fishes,  and  birds.  It  looks  like  the  temp 
tation  of  St.  Anthony,  on  a  splendid  scale,  and  is  certainly  one  of 
the  most  extraordinary  spectacles  in  the  world. 

Near  it  stands  another  villa,  the  property  of  Prince  Butera 
(the  present  minister  of  Naples  at  the  court  of  France),  contain- 


244  BAKED  MONKS. 


ing  in  the  depths  of  its  pleasure-grounds,  a  large  monastery,  with 
wax  monks,  of  the  size  and  appearance  of  life,  scattered  about  the 
passages  and  cells,  and  engaged  in  every  possible  unclerical  avo 
cation.  It  is  a  whimsical  satire  on  the  Order,  done  to  the  life. 

Another  plan  was  to  go  to  the  Capuchin  convent,  and  see  the 
dried  friars — six  or  eight  hundred  bearded  old  men,  baked,  as 
they  died,  in  their  cowls  and  beards,  and  standing  against  the 
walls  in  ghastly  rows,  in  the  spacious  vaults  of  the  monastery.  A 
more  infernal  spectacle  never  was  seen  by  mortal  eyes. 

A  drive  to  Monreale,  a  nest  of  a  village  on  the  mountain  above 
the  town — a  visit  to  the  gardens  of  a  nobleman  who  salutes  the 
stranger  with  a  jet  d'eau  at  every  turning — and  a  lounge  in  the 
public  promenade  of  Palermo  itself — shared  the  honors  of  the 
argument. 

I  had  been  in  Sicily  before,  and  was  hesitating  which  of  these 
various  4  lions'  was  worthy  of  a  second  visit,  when  the  surgeon  pro 
posed  to  me  to  accompany  him  on  a  visit  to  a  Sicilian  Count,  liv 
ing  in  the  neighborhood,  who  had  converted  his  chateau  into  a 
lunatic  asylum,  and  devoted  his  time  and  a  large  fortune  entirely 
to  this  singular  hobby.  He  was  the  first  to  try  the  system,  (now, 
thank  God,  generally  approved !)  of  winning  back  reason  to  the 
most  wretched  of  human  sufferers  by  kindness  and  gentle  treat 
ment. 

We  jumped  into  one  of  the  rattling  calesini  standing  in  the 
handsome  corso  of  Palermo,  and  fifteen  minutes  beyond  the  gates 
brought  us  to  the  Casa  del  Pazzi.  My  friend's  uniform  and 
profession  were  an  immediate  passport,  and  we  were  introduced 
into  a  handsome  court,  surrounded  by  a  colonnade,  and  cooled  by 
a  fountain,  in  which  were  walking  several  well-dressed  people 
with  books,  drawing-boards,  battledores,  and  other  means 


' 


THE    MAD    HOUSE    OF   PALERMO.  245 


amusement.     They  all  bowed  politely  as  we  passed,  and,  at  the 

door  of  the  interior,  we  were  met  by  the  Count. 

"  Good  God  !"  I  exclaimed — "  she  was  insane,  then  !" 
It  was  the  old  man  who  was  on  board  the  nio-ht  before  ' 

O 

"  E  dla  ?"  said  I,  seizing  his  arm  before  he  had  concluded  his 
bow,  quite  sure  that  he  must  understand  me  with  a  word. 

11  Era  pazza."  He  looked  at  me  as  he  answered,  with  a 
scrutiny,  as  if  he  half  suspected  niy  friend  had  brought  him  a 
subject. 

The  singular  character  of  her  beauty  was  quite  explained. 
Yet  what  a  wreck  ! 

I  followed  the  old  Count  around  his  establishment  in  a  kind  of 
dream,  but  I  could  not  avoid  being  interested  at  every  step. 
Here  were  no  chains,  no  whips,  no  harsh  keepers,  no  cells  of  stone 
and  straw.  The  walls  of  the  long  corridors  were  painted  in  fresco, 
representing  sunny  landscapes,  and  gay,  dancing  figures.  Foun 
tains  and  shrubs  met  us  at  every  turn.  The  people  were  dressed 
in  their  ordinary  clothes,  and  all  employed  in  some  light  work  or, 
amusement.  It  was  like  what  it  might  have  been  in  the  days  of 
the  Count's  ancestors — a  gay  chateau,  filled  with  guests  and  de 
pendants,  with  no  more  apparent  constraint  than  the  ties  of  hos 
pitality  and  service. 

We  went  first  to  the  kitchen.  Here  were  ten  people,  all,  but 
the  cook,  stark  mad!  It  was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
Count's  system,  that  his  patients  led  in,  his  house  the  lives  to 
which  they  had  previously  been  accustomed.  A  stout  Sicilian 
peasant  girl  was  employed  in  filling  a  large  brasier  from  the  basin 
of  a  fountain.  While  we  were  watching  her  task,  the  fit  began 
to  come  on  her,  and,  after  a  fierce  look  or  two  around  the  room, 
she  commenced  dashing  the  water  about  her  with  great  violence. 


246  PLEASURE-HOSPITAL   FOR    INSANE. 


The  cook  turned,  not  at  all  surprised,  and,  patting  her  on  the  back, 
with  a  loud  laugh,  cried,  "  Brava,  Pepina  !  'bravo,  /"  ringing  at 
the  same  moment  a  secret  bell. 

A  young  girl  of  sixteen  with  a  sweet,  smiling  countenance, 
answered  the  summons,  and,  immediately  comprehending  the  case, 
approached  the  enraged  creature,  and  putting  her  arms  affec 
tionately  round  her  neck,  whispered  something  in  her  ear.  The 
expression  of  her  face  changed  immediately  to  a  look  of  delight, 
and  dropping  the  bucket,  she  followed  the  young  attendant  out  of 
the  room  with  peals  of  laughter. 

"  Venite  /"  said  the  Count,  "  you  shall  see  how  we  manage  our 
furies." 

We  followed  across  a  garden,  filled  with  the  sweetest  flowers,  to 
a  small  room  opening  on  a  lawn.  From  the  centre  of  the  ceiling 
was  suspended  a  hammock,  and  Pepina  was  already  in  it,  swung 
lightly  from  side  to  side  by  a  servant,  while  the  attendant  stood 
by,  and,  as  if  in  play,  threw  water  upon  her  face  at  every  ap 
proach.  It  had  all  the  air  of  a  frolic.  The  violent  laughter  of 
the  poor  maniac  grew  less  and  less  as  the  soothing  motion  and  the 
coolness  of  the  water  took  effect,  and  in  a  few  minutes  her  strained 
eyes  gently  closed,  the  hammock  was  swung  more  and  more  gently, 
and  she  fell  asleep. 

"  This,"  said  the  Count,  with  a  gratified  smile,  "  is  my  substi 
tute  for  a  forced  shower-bath  and  chains  ;  and  this,"  kissing  his 
little  attendant  on  the  forehead,  "  for  the  whip  and  the  grim 
turnkey."  I  blessed  him  in  my  heart. 

"  Come !"  said  he,  as  we  left  the  sleeper  to  her  repose,  "  I 
must  show  you  my  grounds." 

yVe  followed  him  to  an  extensive  garden,  opening  from  th 
back  of  the  chateau,  laid  out,  originally,  in  the  formal  style  of 


: 


THE  MAD    HOUSE    OP   PALERMO.  247 

Italian  villa.  The  long  walks  had  been  broken  up,  however,  by 
beautiful  arbors  with  grottoes  in  their  depths,  in  which  wooden 
figures,  of  the  color  and  size  of  life,  stood  or  sat  in  every  attitude 
of  gaiety  or  grotesqueness.  It  was  difficult,  in  the  deep  shadow 
of  the  vines  and  oleanders,  not  to  believe  them  real.  We  walked 
on  through  many  a  winding  shrubbery,  perfumed  with  all  the 
scented  flowers  of  the  luxuriant  climate,  continually  surprised 
with  little  deceptions  of  perspective,  or  figures  half  concealed  in 
the  leaves,  till  we  emerged  at  the  entrance  of  a  charmino-  sum 
mer  theatre,  with  sodded  seats,  stage,  orchestra,  and  scenery, 
complete.  Orange-trees,  roses,  and  clematis,  were  laced  together 
for  a  wall  in  the  rear. 

"  Here,"  said  the  old  man,  bounding  gayly  upon  the  stage, 
u  here  we  act  plays,  the  summer  long." 

"  What  !  not  with  your  patients?" 

"  Si  sig-nore  !  Who  else  r"  And  he  went  on  to  describe  to 
us  the  interest  they  took  in  it,  and  the  singular  power  with  which 
the  odd  idea  seized  upon  their  whimsied  intellects.  We  had  been 
accompanied,  from  the  first,  by  a  grave,  respectable-looking  man, 
whom  I  had  taken  for  an  assistant.  While  we  were  listening  to 

Ci 

the  description  of  the  first  attempt  they  had  made  at  a  play,  he 
started  out  from  the  group,  and  putting  himself  in  an  attitude 
upon  the  stage,  commenced  spouting  a  furious  passage  in  Italian. 
The  Count  pointed  to  his  forehead,  and  made  a  sign  to  us  to  lis 
ten.  The  tragedian  stopped  at  the  end  of  his  sentence,  and  after  a 
moment's  delay,  apparently  in  expectation  of  a  reply,  darted  sud 
denly  off  and  disappeared  behind  the  scenes. 

"  Poreretto  ."'  said  the  Count,  "  it  is  my  best  actor  !" 
Near  the  theatre  stood  a  small  chapel,  with  a  circular  lawn  be 
fore  it,  on  whioh  tho   £rass  had  Wn   latelv  much  trodden.     It 


248  STORY   OF    A    MANIAC   GIRL. 


was  surrounded  partly  by  a  green  bank,  and  here  the  Count  seat 
ed  us,  saying,  with  a  significant  look  at  me,  that  he  would  tell  us 
a  story. 

I  should  like  to  give  it  you  in  his  own  words — still  more  with 
his  own  manner ;  for  never  was  a  tale  told  with  more  elegance  of 
language,  or  a  more  natural  and  pleasant  simplicity.  But  a  sheet 
of  "  wire-wove"  is  not  a  Palermitan  Cavaliere,  and  the  cold  Eng 
lish  has  not  the  warm  eloquence  of  the  Italian.  He  laid  aside 
his  hat,  ordered  fruit  and  wine,  and  proceeded. 

"  Almost  a  year  ago,  I  was  called  upon  by  a  gentleman  of  a 
noble  physiognomy  and  address,  who  inquired  very  particularly 
into  my  system.  I  explained  it  to  him,  at  his  request,  and  he  did 
me  the  honor,  as  you  gentlemen  have  done,  to  go  over  my  little 
establishment.  He  seemed  satisfied,  and,  with  some  hesitation, 
informed  me  that  he  had  a  daughter  in  a  very  desperate  state  oi 
mental  alienation.  Would  I  go  and  see  her  ? 

"  This  is  not,  you  know,  gentlemen,  a  public  institution.     I  am 
crazy,"  he  said  it  very  gravely,  "  quite  crazy — the   first  of  m; 
family  of    fools,   on   this  particular  theme — and  this  asylum 
my  toy.     Of  course  it  is  only  as  the  whim  seizes  me  that  I  ad 
mit  a  patient ;  for  there  are  some  diseases  of  the  brain,  seated  i.i 
causes  with  which  I  wish  not  to  meddle. 

"  However,  I  went.     With  the  freedom  of  a  physician,  I  ques 
tioned  the  father,  upon  the  road,  of  the  girl's  history.     He  was 
Greek,  a  prince  of  the  Fanar,  who  had  left  his  degraded  peoph 
in  their  dirty  and  dangerous  suburb  at  Constantinople,  to  forget 
oppression  and  meanness  in  a  voluntary  exile.     It  was  just  befoi 
the  breaking  out  of  the  last  Greek  revolution,  and  so  many  oi 
his  kinsmen  and  friends  had  been  sacrificed  to  the  fury  of  th( 


THE  MAD  HOUSE  OF  PALERMO.  249 

Turks,  that  he  had  renounced  all  idea  of  ever  returning  to  his 
3ountry. 

"  l  And  your  daughter  ?  ' 

"  <  My  dear  Katinka,  my  only  child,  fell  ill  upon  receiving  dis 
tressing  news  from  the  Fanar,  and  her  health  and  her  reason 
never  rallied  after.  It  is  now  several  years,  and  she  has  lain  in 
bed  till  her  limbs  are  withered,  never  having  uttered  a  word,  or 
made  a  sign  which  would  indicate  even  consciousness  of  the  pre 
sence  of  those  about  her.' 

"  I  could  not  get  from  him  that  there  was  any  disappointment 
of  the  heart  at  the  bottom  of  it.  It  seemed  to  be  one  of  those 
cases  of  sudden  stupefaction,  to  which  nervously  sensitive  minds 
are  liable  after  a  violent  burst  of  grief;  and  I  began,  before  I 
had  seen  her,  to  indulge  in  bright  hopes  of  starting  once  more  the 
sealed  fountains  of  thought  and  feeling. 

"  We  entered  Palermo,  and  passing  out  at  the  other  gate, 
stopped  at  a  vine-laced  casino  on  the  lip  of  the  bay,  scarcely  a 
mile  from  the  city  wall.  It  was  a  pretty,  fanciful  place,  and  on 
a  bed  in  its  inner  chamber,  lay  the  most  poetical-looking  creature 
I  had  ever  seen  out  of  my  dreams.  Her  head  was  pillowed  in 
an  abundance  of  dark  hair,  which  fell  away  from  her  forehead  in 
masses  of  glossy  curls,  relieving,  with  a  striking  effect,  the  wan  and 
transparent  paleness  of  a  face  which  the  divinest  chisel  could 
scarce  have  copied  in  alabaster.  Dio  mio  ! — how  transcendant  was 
the  beauty  of  that  poor  girl  !" 

The  Count  stopped  and  fed  his  memory,  a  moment,  with  closed 
eyes  upon  the  image. 

"  At  the  first  glance  I  inwardly  put  up  a  prayer  to  the  Virgin, 
and  determined,  with  her   sweet  help,  to  restore  reason  to  the 
fairest  of  its  earthly  temples.      I  took  up  her  shadow  of  a  hand, 
11* 


250  LOVE  FOR  A  CURE. 

and  spread  out  the  thin  fingers  in  my  palm,  and,  as  she  turned  her 
large  wandering  eye  toward  me,  I  felt  that  the  blessed  Mary  had 
heard  my  prayer, l  You  shall  see  her  well  again,'  said  I  confidently. 

"  Quite  overcome,  the  Prince  Ghika  fell  on  the  bed  and  em 
braced  his  daughter's  knees  in  an  agony  of  tears. 

"  You  shall  not  have  the  seccatura,  gentlemen,  of  listening  to 
the  recital  of  all  my  tedious  experiments  for  the  first  month  or 
two.  I  brought  her  to  my  house  upon  a  litter,  placed  her  in  a 
room  filled  with  every  luxury  of  the  East,  and  suffered  no  one  to 
approach  her  except  two  Greek  attendants,  to  whose  services  she 
was  accustomed.  I  succeeded  in  partially  restoring  animation  to 
her  benumbed  limbs  by  friction,  and  made  her  sensible  of  music, 
and  of  the  perfumes  of  the  East,  which  I  burned  in  a  pastille- 
lamp  in  her  chamber.  Here,  however,  my  skill  was  baffled.  I 
could  neither  amuse  nor  vex.  Her  mind  was  beyond  me.  After 
trying  every  possible  experiment,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  my  inven 
tion  was  exhausted,  and  I  despaired. 

"  She  occupied,  however,  much  of  my  mind.  Walking  up  and 
down  yonder  orange-alley  one  sweet  morning,  about  two  months 
ago,  I  started  off  suddenly  to  my  chamber  with  a  new  thought. 
You  would  have  thought  me  the  maddest  of  my  household,  to 
have  seen  me,  gentlemen  !  I  turned  out  by  the  shoulders  the 
rcgazza,  who  was  making  my  bed,  washed  and  scented  myself, 
as  if  for  a  ball,  covered  my  white  hairs  with  a  handsome  brown 
wig,  a  relic  of  my  coxcombical  days,  rouged  faintly,  and,  with 
white  gloves,  and  a  most  youthful  appearance  altogether,  sought 
the  chamber  of  my  patient. 

"  She  was  lying  with  her  head  in  the  hollow  of  her  thin  arm, 
and,  as  I  entered,  her  dark  eyes  rested  full  upon  me.  I  ap 
proached,  kissed  her  hand  with  a  respectful  gallantry,  and  in  the 


THE    MAD    HOUSE    OF    PALERMO.  251 


tenderest  tones  of  which  my  damaged  voice  was  susceptible, 
breathed  into  her  ear  a  succession  of  delicately-turned  compli 
ments  to  her  beauty. 

"  She  lay  as  immovable  as  marble,  but  I  had  not  calculated 
upon  the  ruling  passion  of  the  sex  in  vain.  A  thin  flush  on  her 
cheek,  and  a  flutter  in  her  temple,  only  perceptible  to  my  prac 
tised  eye,  told  me  that  the  words  had  found  their  way  to  her 
long-lost  consciousness. 

"  I  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  took  up  a  ringlet  that  fell 
negligently  over  her  hand,  and  asked  permission  to  sever  it  from 
the  glossy  mass  in  which  the  arm  under  her  head  was  literally 
buried. 

"  She  clutched  her  fingers  suddenly  upon  it,  and  glancing  at 
me  with  the  fury  of  a  roused  tigress,  exclaimed  in  a  husky  whisper, 
4  Lasciate  me,  signore  /' 

"  I  obeyed  her,  and,  as  I  left  the  room,  I  thanked  the  Virgin 
in  my  heart.  It  was  the  first  word  she  had  spoken  for  years. 

"  The  next  day,  having  patched  myself  up  more  successfully,  in 
my  leisure,  in  a  disguise  so  absolute  that  not  one  even  of  my  pets 
knew  me  as  I  passed  through  the  corridor,  I  bowed  myself  up 
once  more  to  her  bedside. 

"  She  lay  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her  eyes,  and  took  no 
notice  of  my  first  salutation.  I  commenced  with  a  little  raillery, 
and,  under  cover  of  finding  fault  with  her  attitude,  contrived  to 
pay  an  adroit  compliment  to  the  glorious  orbs  she  was  hiding 
from  admiration.  She  lay  a  moment  or  two  without  motion,  but 
the  muscles  of  her  slight  mouth  stirred  just  perceptibly,  and  pre 
sently  she  drew  her  fingers  quickly  apart,  and  looking  at  me  with 
a  most  confiding  expression  in  her  pale  features,  a  full  sweet  smile 


2o2  A   LUNATIC    WEDDING. 


broke  like  sudden  sunshine  through  her  lips.  I  could  have  wept 
for  joy. 

"  I  soon  acquired  all  the  influence  over  her  I  could  wish.  She 
made  an  effort,  at  my  request,  to  leave  her  bed,  and  in  a  week  or 
two  walked  with  me  in  the  garden.  Her  mind,  however,  seemed 
to  have  capacity  but  for  one  thought,  and  she  soon  began  to  grow 
unhappy,  and  would  weep  for  hours.  I  endeavored  to  draw  from 
her  the  cause,  but  she  only  buried  her  face  in  my  bosom,  and 
wept  more  violently,  till  one  day,  sobbing  out  her  broken  words 
almost  inarticulately,  I  gathered  her  meaning.  She  was  grieved 
that  I  did  not  marry  her  I 

"  Poor  girl !"  soliloquised  the  Count,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  she 
was  only  true  to  her  woman's  nature.  Insanity  had  but  removed 
the  veil  of  custom  and  restraint.  She  would  have  broken  her 
heart  before  she  had  betrayed  such  a  secret,  with  her  reason. 

"  I  was  afraid  at  last  she  would  go  melancholy  mad,  this  one 
thought  preyed  so  perpetually  on  her  brain — and  I  resolved  to 
delude  her  into  the  cheerfulness  necessary  to  her  health  by  a 
mock  ceremony. 

"  The  delight  with  which  she  received  my  promise  almost 
alarmed  me.  I  made  several  delays,  with  the  hope  that  in  the 
convulsion  of  her  feelings  a  ray  of  reason  would  break  through 
the  darkness ;  but  she  took  every  hour  to  heart,  and  I  found  it 
was  inevitable. 

"  You  are  sitting,  gentlemen,  in  the  very  scene  of  our  mad 
bridal.  My  poor  grass  has  not  yet  recovered,  you  see,  from  the 
tread  of  the  dancers.  Imagine  the  spectacle.  The  chapel  was 
splendidly  decorated,  and,  at  the  bottom  of  the  lawn,  stood  three 
long  tables,  covered  with  fruits  and  flowers,  and  sprinkled  here 
and  there  with  bottles  of  colored  water  (to  imitate  wine),  sherbets, 


THE  MAD  HOUSE  OF  PALERMO.          253 


cakes,  and  other  such  innocent  things  as  I  could  allow  rny  crazy 
ones.  They  were  all  invited." 

"  Good  God  !"  said  the  surgeon,  "  your  lunatics  ?" 

"  All  —  all  !  And  never  was  such  a  sensation  produced  in  a  house 
hold  since  the  world  was  created.  Nothing  else  was  talked  of  for 
a  week.  My  worst  patients  seemed  to  suspend,  for  a  time,  their 
fits  of  violence.  I  sent  to  town  for  quantities  of  tricksy  stuffs,  and 
allowed  the  women  to  deck  themselves  entirely  after  their  own 
taste.  You  can  conceive  nothing  like  the  business  they  made  of 
it!  Such  apparitions!  —  Santa  Maria!  shall  I  ever  forget  that 
Babel  ? 

"  The  morning  came.  My  bride's  attendants  had  dressed  her 
from  her  Grecian  wardrobe  ;  and,  with  her  long  braid  parted  over 
her  forehead,  and  hanging  back  from  her  shoulders  to  her  very 
heels,  her  close-fitted  jacket,  of  gorgeous  velvet  and  gold,  her 
costly  bracelets,  and  the  small  spangled  slippers  upon  her  unstock- 
inged  feet,  she  was  positively  an  angelic  vision  of  beauty.  Her 
countenance  was  thoughtful,  but  her  step  was  unusually  elastic, 
and  a  small  red  spot,  like  a  rose-leaf  under  the  skin,  blushed 
through  the  alabaster  paleness  of  her  cheek. 

"  My  maniacs  received  her  with  shouts  of  admiration.  The 
women  were  kept  from  her  at  first  with  great  difficulty,  and  it  was 
only  by  drawing  their  attention  to  their  own  gaudier  apparel,  that 
their  anxiety  to  touch  her  was  distracted.  The  men  looked  at 
her,  as  she  passed  along  like  a  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  and 
their  wild,  gleaming  eyes,  and  quickened  breaths,  showed  the 
effect  of  such  loveliness  upon  the  unconcealed  feelings.  I  had 
multiplied  my  attendants,  scarce  knowing  how  the  excitement  of 
the  scene  might  affect  them  ;  but  the  interest  of  the  occasion,  and 
the  imposing  decencies  of  dress  and  show,  seemed  to  overcome 


254  THE  EFFECT. 


them  effectually.     The  most  sane  guests  at  a  bridal  could  scarce 
have  behaved  with  more  propriety. 

"  The  ceremony  was  performed  by  an  elderly  friend  of  mine, 
the  physician  to  my  establishment.  Old  as  I  am,  gentlemen,  I 
could  have  wished  that  ceremony  to  have  been  in  earnest.  As 
she  lifted  up  her  large  liquid  eyes  to  heaven,  and  swore  to  be  true 
to  me  till  death,  I  forgot  my  manhood,  and  wept.  If  I  had  been 
younger — ma,  che  porcheria  ! 

"  After  the  marriage  the  women  were  invited  to  salute  the 
bride,  and  then  all  eyes  in  my  natural  party  turned  at  once  to  the 
feast.  I  gave  the  word. — Fruits,  cakes,  and  sherbets,  disappeared 
with  the  rapidity  of  magic,  and  then  the  music  struck  up  from 
the  shrubbery,  and  they  danced — as  you  see  by  the  grass. 

"  I  committed  the  bride  to  her  attendants  at  sunset,  but  I  could 
with  difficulty  tear  myself  away.  On  the  following  day,  I  called 
at  her  door,  but  she  refused  to  see  me.  The  next  day  and  the 
next,  I  could  gain  no  admittance  without  exerting  my  authority. 

On  the  fourth  morning  I  was  permitted  to  enter.  She  had  re 
sumed  her  usual  dress,  and  was  sad,  calm,  and  gentle.  She  said 
little,  but  seemed  lost  in  thought  to  which  she  was  unwilling  or 
unable  to  give  utterance. 

"  She  has  never  spoken  of  it  since.  Her  mind,  I  think,  has 
nearly  recovered  its  tone,  but  her  memory  seems  confused.  I 
scarce  think  she  remembers  her  illness,  and  its  singular  events, 
as  more  than  a  troubled  dream.  On  all  the  common  affairs  of 
life  she  seems  quite  sane,  and  I  drive  out  with  her  daily,  and 
have  taken  her  once  or  twice  to  the  Opera.  Last  night  we  were 
strolling  on  the  Marina,  when  your  frigate  came  into  the  bay,  and 
she  proposed  to  join  the  crowd,  and  go  off  to  hear  the  music. 
We  went  on  board  as  you  know  ;  and  now,  if  you  choose  to 


THE  MAD  HOUSE  OF  PALERMO.  255 


pay  your  respects  to  the  lady  who  refused  to  waltz  with  you,  take 
another  sip  of  your  sherbet  and  wine,  and  come  with  me." 

To  say  more,  would  be  trespassing,  perhaps,  on  the  patience  of 
my  readers,  but  certainly  on  my  own  feelings.  I  have  described 
this  singular  case  of  madness  and  its  cure,  because  I  think  it  con 
tains  in  itself  the  seeds  of  much  philosophy  on  the  subject.  It 
is  only  within  a  very  few  years  that  these  poor  sufferers  have  been 
treated  otherwise  than  as  the  possessors  of  incarnate  devils, 
whom  it  was  necessary  to  scourge  out  with  unsparing  cruelty.  If 
this  literal  statement  of  a  cure  in  the  private  mad-house  of  the 

eccentric  Conte ,  of  Palermo,  induce  the  friends  of  a  single 

unfortunate  maniac  to  adopt  a  kind  and  rational  system  for  his 
restoration,  tlia  writer  will  have  been  repaid  for  bringing  circum 
stances  before  the  public,  which  have  since  had  much  to  do  with 
his  own  feelings. 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS  ; 

OR,  MRS.  LUTHER  LEATHERS'S  FIRST  «  FRIDAY  MORNING." 


IT  was  one  o'clock,  in  a  certain  new  four-story  house,  within 
fashionable  reach  of  Union-Square.  The  two  drawing-rooms, 
with  the  folding  doors  sheathed  to  the  glass  handles,  were  in 
faultless  order.  There  was  a  fire  in  one  of  the  grates,  to  take  off 
the  smell  of  the  new  furniture,  and  the  chill  of  a  November  day ; 
and  just  audible  was  the  tick  of  a  showy  French  clock,  wound  up 
for  the  first  time,  and  expected  to  swing  its  pendulum  that  morn 
ing  and  thereafter,  in  the  "  first  society"  of  New  York. 

As  the  unsuspecting  and  assenting  clock  struck  one,  there  was 
a  rustle  of  silk  down  the  banisters  of  the  staircase,  and  the  lady 
of  the  house — (the  scaffolding  of  a  well-built  woman  who  had 
fallen  in) — sailed  into  the  room. 

"  Betsey  ! — that  is  to  say,  Judkins  ! — are  you  there  ?"  she  in 
quired,  as  she  gave  the  blue  curtains  of  the  front  windows  a 
twitch  each. 

"  Yes,  mem,"  said  a  voice  from  the  little  verandah  room  in  the 
rear. 

"  Is  the  chocolate  hot  ?" 

"Bilin',  mem!" 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  257 

"  Now,  Judkins,  you  remember  aU  Mr.  Cyphers  told  you  about 
how  to  behave  when  the  ladies  come  in  there  r" 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Mrs.  Leathers  !"  said  the  invisible  speaker, 
without  answering  the  question,  "  but  it  flusters  me  to  be  called 
<  Judkins,'  so  blunt  and  sudden-like  !  I  shall  upset  this  choco 
late-pot,  I  know  I  shall,  if  you  call  me  so  when  there's  company. 
Why,  it's  just  like  hearing  my  poor,  dead  husband  called  up  out 
of  his  grave,  Mrs.  Leathers  !  If  you  please,  mem,  let  it  be  '  Bet 
sey,'  or  '  Mrs.  Judkins'— least-wise  till  I  get  used  to  it,  some 
how?" 

But  this  remonstrance  had  been  heard  before,  and  the  mistress 
of  the  aggrieved  Mrs.  Judkins  paid  no  attention  to  it.  She  had 
been  assured,  by  fashionable  Mr.  Cyphers,  that  head  maids  in 
"  first  families,"  were  always  called  by  their  sirnames,  for  it  im 
plied  a  large  establishment,  with  two  classes  of  servants— the 
chambermaids  and  kitchen  scrubs  being  the  only  legitimate 
Sallys  and  Betseys. 

A  ring  at  the  bell,  while  Judkins  was  meditating  another  re 
monstrance,  suddenly  galvanized  Mrs.  Leathers  into  the  middle 
of  the  sofa,  facing  the  door  ;  and  there  she  sat,  as  composed  as  if 
she  had  been  sitting  an  hour  for  her  picture,  when  the  gentleman 
whose  advice  had  just  been  acted  upon,  was  shown  in  by  the  new 
footman. 

Like  every  unfashionable  rich  man's  ambitious  wife,  Mrs. 
Leathers  had  one  fashionable  male  friend — her  counsellor  in  all 
matters  of  taste,  and  the  condescending  guide  of  herself  and  her 
husband's  plebeian  million  through  the  contempts  which  form  the 
vestibule  to  "good  society."  Mr.  Theodore  Cyphers  was  one 
of  two  dwindled  remainders  to  a  very  "  old  family" — a  sister, 
who  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  the  family  nose  walking  about  in  a 


258  PREPARATIONS. 


petticoat,  sharing  with  him  the  reversed  end  of  cornucopia!  ances 
try.  He  was,  perhaps,  thirty-five,  of  a  very  genteel  ugliness  of 
personal  appearance,  good-humored,  and  remarkably  learned  upon 
the  motives,  etiquette  and  usages  of  fashionable  society.  Of  a 
thought  unconnected  with  the  art  of  gentility,  or  of  the  making 
of  a  penny,  Mr.  Cyphers  was  profoundly  incapable.  Skill  at 
thinking,  indeed,  would. have  been  a  superfluity,  for  he  had  had  a 
grandfather,  in  a  country  where  grandfathers  are  fewer  and  more 
prized  than  anywhere  else,  and  he  had  only  to  do  nothing  and  be 
highly  respectable.  The  faculty  of  earning  something  would 
scarcely  have  bettered  his  condition,  either,  for  his  rarity  as  an 
unemployed  gentleman,  in  a  city  where  excessive  industry  is  too 
universal  to  be  a  virtue,  gave  him  that  something  to  be  known  by, 
which  it  is  the  very  devil  to  be  without.  What  paid  for  Mr.  or 
Miss  Cyphers's  sustenance  and  postage,  was  one  of  the  few  re 
spectable  mysteries  of  New  York.  He  had  now  and  then  a  note 
discounted  by  the  house  of  Leathers  and  Co.,  Wall-street;  but 
of  course  it  was  not  taken  up  at  maturity  by  his  attentions  to 
Mrs.  Leathers,  nor  have  we  any  knowledge  that  these  promises  of 
Cyphers  to  pay,  were  still  under  indefatigable  renewal  up  to  the 
date  of  the  great  stockholder's  wife's  first  "  Friday  Morning." 

It  was  in  expectation  of  a  proper  "  reception"  call,  that  Mrs. 
Leathers  had  taken  her  seat  upon  the  sofa,  and,  upon  the  appear 
ance  of  Mr.  Cyphers,  she  came  out  of  her  attitude  with  a  slight 
look  of  disappointment. 

"  I  have  dropped  in  early,  my  dear  friend,"  she  he,  "  to  see 
that  everything  is  comme  il  faut.  Bless  me,  how  light  the  room 
is  !  Nobody  would  come  twice  where  there  is  such  a  glare  on 
the  complexion  !  Will  you  allow  me  to  call  Caesar  to  shut  the 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  259 

outside  blinds  ?     Caesar  !"  he  cried,  stepping  back  to  the  entry  to 
recall  the  man  who  had  let  him  in. 

But  no  Caesar  answered,  for  the  black  footman  had  a  sirname 
as  well  as  Betsey  Judkins,  and  if  she  was  to  be  called  "  Judkims,'' 
he  would  be  called  "  Fuzzard,"  and  he  would  answer  to  nothing 
else. 

"  It  cannot  be  permitted,  my  dear  Mrs.  Leathers  !"  expostu 
lated  Mr.  Cyphers,  when  the  man  carried  his  point,  and  shut 
the  blinds  to  an  order  given  him  by  the  name  of  Fuzzard ;  "  a 
head  servant,  with  a  white  cravat,  is  the  only  man  who  can  go  by 
a  sirname  in  a  genteel  family.  A  trifle— but  little  things  show 
style.  Pay  the  man  more  wages  to  let  himself  be  called  Caesar, 
but  call  him  Casar !  Pardon  me!"  (continued  Mr.  Cyphers, 
suddenly  changing  to  an  apologetic  cadence.)  "  might  I  venture 
to  suggest  a  little  change  in  your  toilette,  my  dear  madam  r" 

"Mine!"  cried  Mrs.  Leathers,  coloring  slightly,  but  looking 
as  frightened  as  if  she  had  been  pulled  back  from  a  precipice. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Cyphers,  this  is  the  very  last  fashion  out  from 
Paris  !  I  hope — I  trust — why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Cy 
phers  ?"  and  Mrs.  Leathers  walked  to  the  pier  glass  and  looked 
at  herself,  behind  and  before,  in  rapid  succession. 

"  For  the  Opera,  very  well,   my  dear  friend,"  he  replied,  ap- 
pealingly,  or  for  a  bridal  call,  or  nfete  champetre.     It  is  as  pretty 
a  three-quarter  toilette  as  ever  I  saw,  and  you  look  quite  lovely 
in  it,  dear  Mrs.  Leathers,  but — " 
'•  But  what,  I  should  like  to  know  :'' 

"  Why,  in  your  own  house,  you  see,  it  is  stylish  to  be  rather 
under-dressed  ;  as  if  seeing  people  were  such  an  every-day  mat 
ter,  that  you  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  appear  in  more 
than  your  ordinary  toilette." 


260  ON  DRESS  AT  HOME. 


"  And  so  everybody  in  my  own  house  is  to  look  well  but  me  /" 
remonstratively  exclaimed  Mrs.  Leathers. 

"  No — pardon  me  ;  morning  caps  and  well  studied  negliges 
are  very  becoming  ;  but  it  is  not  that  exactly.  Let  me  explain 
the  principle  to  you.  Sitting  up  in  showy  dress  to  receive  calls, 
looks,  (does  it  not  ?)  as  if  you  made  a  great  event  of  it ;  as  if  the 
calls  were  an  unusual  honor — as  if  you  meant  to  be  extremely 
deferential  towards  your  visitors." 

'  But  they  are  splendidly  dressed  when  they  make  the  calls, 
Mr.  Cyphers  !" 

"  Yes,  but  it  is,  as  one  may  say,  open  to  supposition  that  they 
are  going  somewhere  else,  and  have  only  taken  your  house  in  their 
way — don't  you  see  ?  And  then,  supposing  nobody  comes — a 
thing  that  might  happen,  you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Leathers  ; 
why,  there  you  are — in  grand  toilette — evidently  expecting 
somebody  ;  of  course  mortified,  yourself,  with  the  failure  of  your 
matinee,  and,  what  is  worse,  seen  to  be  mortified,  by  your  neigh 
bors  across  the  way !" 

"  La !  mercy  !  of  course  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Leathers,  dis 
covering  that  there  was  a  trap  or  two  for  the  unwary  in  "  good 
society,"  of  which  she  had  been  entirely  unsuspicious ;  "  but 
what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  have  no  time  to  dress  over  again  !  Mrs. 
Ingulphus  might  be  here,  and — " 

"  Oh  !"  interrupted  Cyphers,  with  a  prophetic  foreboding  that 
(spite  of  his  influence  with  Mrs.  Ingulphus,  and  the  hundred  and 
fifty  "  At  home  on  Friday  mornings"  which  had  been  left  on 
people  she  did  not  know,)  Mrs.  Leathers  would  have  very  few 
visitors  for  many  a  Friday  morning  yet  to  come,  "Oh,  my  dear 
madam,  you  are  abundantly  in  time.  Pray  go  up  and  slip  into 
your  prettiest  demi-toilette,  and  take  your  chance  of  any  one's 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  2Ql 

coming.  It  looks  well,  in  fact,  not  to  be  ready  when  people  call ; 
not  to  have  expected  them  so  early,  as  it  were.  While  you  are 
gone,  by-the-bye,  I  will  make  a  little  arrangement  of  your  place 
to  sit,  etc.,  etc.,  which  strikes  me,  at  this  moment,  as  a  matter 
we  had  quite  overlooked.  Go,  my  dear  Mrs.  Leathers !" 

It  was  upon  the  call  of  Mrs.  Ingulphus,  so  confidently  alluded 
to  by  Mrs.  Leathers,  that  Mr.  Cyphers  secretly  built  all  his  hope 
of  making  his  friend   fashionable.      Mrs.  Ingulphus's  carriage, 
seen  at  any  door  for  half  an  hour,  was  a  sufficient   keystone  for  a 
new  aspirant's   arch  of  aristocracy ;  but  of  such  demonstration, 
Mrs.  Ingulphus  was  exceedingly  chary.     The  sagacious  leader  of 
fashion  knew  that  her  house  must,  first  of  all,  be  attractive  and 
amusing.     She  was  too  wise  to  smother  its  agreeableness  alto 
gether,  with  people  who  had  descended  from  grandfathers  ;  but,  to 
counteract  this  very  drowse  of  dwindledom,  she  required,  of  the 
grandfatherless,  either  beauty  or  talent.     Mr.  Cyphers,  in  making 
interest  Jor  Mrs.  Leathers,  had  not  pleaded  her  wealth.     That 
was  now  so  common  as  to  have  ceased  to  be  a  distinction,  or,  at 
least,  it  was  a  distinction  which,  in  mounting  to  Mrs.  Ingulphus's 
drawing-room,  Mrs.  Leathers  must  leave  in  the  gutter  with  her 
carriage. 

What  Mrs.  Leathers  was  like,  after  getting  inside  a  door,  was 
the  question.  She  might  be  dull,  if  she  was  Knickerbocratic— 
low-born,  if  stylish  and  beautiful— scandalized,  if  willing  to  under 
take  wall-flowers  and  make  her  fascinations  useful,  but  she 
must  be  something  besides  rich  and  vulgar.  Cyphers  could  plead 
for  her  on  none  of  the  usual  grounds,  but,  with  a  treacherous  inge 
nuity,  he  manufactured  an  attraction  which  was,  in  fact,  a  slan 
der  on  Mrs.  Leathers.  He  reminded  Mrs.  Ingulphus  that 
foreigners  liked  a  house  where  the  married  ladies  would  flirt,  and 


262 


BE  SEEN  WRITING. 


whispered,  confidentially,  that  Mrs.  Leathers  had  a  dull  money 
bag  for  a  husband,  and  (to  use  his  own  phrase),  "  would  listen  to 
reason." 

Mrs.  Ingulphus  said  she  would  think  of  it,  and,  upon  this  encou 
ragement,  Cyphers  cherished  a  hope  that  she  would  call. 

With  the  aid  of  Judkins  and  Fuzzard,  Mr.  Cyphers,  on  Mrs. 
Leathers's  disappearance,  made  some  important  changes  in  the 
furniture  of  the  front  drawing-room.  A  fancy  writing-desk  was 
taken  out  from  under  the  pier-table,  opened,  and  set  upon  a 
work-stand  in  the  corner,  the  contents  scattered  about  in  epis 
tolary  confusion,  and  a  lounging  chair  wheeled  up  before  it. 
With  some  catechising,  Judkins  remembered  an  embroidered  foot 
stool  in  one  of  the  closets  up  stairs,  and  this  was  sent  for  and 
placed  in  front  of  thefauteuil.  The  curtains  all  let  down,  except 
one,  and  the  sofa  wheeled  up  with  its  back  to  this  one  entrance 
for  the  light — Mr.  Cyphers  saw  that  he  could  do  no  more. 

"  Now,  my  very  expeditious  Mrs.  Leathers,"  he  said,  as  she 
entered,  in  an  unobjectionable  morning  dress,  and  a  cap  rather 
becoming,  "  one  little  word  more  of  general  directions.  Ladies 
love  to  sit  with  their  backs  to  the  light,  in  a  morning  call,  and  as 
the  sofa  is  placed  now,  they  will  easily  take  a  seat  in  a  becoming 
position,  and  without  any  inconvenient  drawing  up  of  a  chair. 
As  to  yourself,  sit  you  at  this  desk  and  write — " 

"  Bless  me  !  I  have  nothing  to  write  !"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Leathers. 

"  Oh,  copy  an  advertisement  from  a  newspaper,  if  you  like," 
resumed  her  polite  instructor,  u  but  write  something,  and  let  it  be 
upon  note  paper.  You  must  seem  to  be  passing  your  morning 
quite  independently  of  visits,  and  to  be  rather  broken  in  upon 
than  otherwise,  by  any  one's  coining  in.  Fashionable  people, 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  263 


you  know,  admire  most  those  who  can  do  without  them.     I  think 
that's  in  Pelham." 

"  La  !  and  must  I  write  till  somebody  comes  r" 
"  Dip  your  pen  in  the  ink  when  the  bell  rings,  that's  all ;  and 
write  till  their  coming  in  makes  you  look  up,  suddenly  and  un 
consciously,  as  it  were.  Stay — suppose  I  sit  in  your  chair,  and 
show  you  how  I  would  receive  a  call  ?  You  are  the  visitor,  say, 
and  I  am  Mrs.  Leathers  ?n 

Mr.  Cyphers  crossed  his  feet,  in  an  elongated  position,  upon 
the  embroidered  footstool,  and  threw  his  hankerchief  over  them 
in  imitation  of  a  petticoat,  just  disclosing  a  toe  and  an  instep  ; 
then,  taking  up  a  pen,  he  went  through  the  representation  of  a 
lady  surprised,  writing,  by  a  morning  call.  As,  upon  Mrs. 
Leathers'  trying  to  do  it  after  him,  he  found  there  were  several 
other  points  in  her  attitude  and  manners  which  required  slight 
emendation,  we  will  leave  these  two  at  their  lesson  above  stairs, 
and  take  a  look  into  the  basement  parlor  of  the  story  below. 


PART    II. 

THE    LEATHERS'S    BASEMENT. 

A  PAIR  of  beautiful  partridges,  cooked  to  a  turn,  had  just  suc 
ceeded  a  bass,  done  in  port-wine  sauce ;  the  potatoes  were  hot, 
and  the  pint  bottle  of  champagne  had  given  place  to  a  decanter 
of  sherry,  at  the  right  hand  of  Mr.  Luther  Leathers,  dining  alone 
in  his  basement  parlor.  A  fire  of  bituminous  coal  burned  very 
brightly  in  the  grate.  Dividing  her  attention  between  watching 


264  THE     HUSBAND. 


the  blaze,  and  looking  up  placidly  to  the  face  of  the  stock-broker 
as  he  soliloquized  over  his  dinner,  sat  a  hunchback  girl  of  nine 
teen  or  twenty,  carefully  propped  on  a  patent  easy-chair  upon 
wheels.  There  was  no  servant  waiting  on  table.  The  bread  and 
water  were  within  Mr.  Leathers's  reach,  and  the  bell-handle  was 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  pale  and  patient-looking  little  cripple  in 
the  corner. 

"  Lucy,  my  dear  girl,"  said  the  carver  of  the  partridge, 
holding  up  a  bit  of  the  breast  of  the  bird  upon  his  fork,  "  I  wish 
I  could  persuade  you  to  take  a  bit  of  this.  See  how  nice  it 
looks  !" 

"  I  know  you  wish  it,"  she  answered,  with  an  affectionate  half 
smile,  "  and  you  would  give  me  your  own  health  to  enjoy  it,  i: 
you  could,  but  I  have  no  appetite  to-day — except  sympathy  wit! 
yours." 

Leathers  was  a  short,  stout  man,  of  about  forty.  He  had  a  fac( 
roughly  lined  with  anxiety,  and  a  knit  contraction  of  brows 
which  showed  a  habit  of  forcibly  contracting  his  attention  at  shor 
notice.  The  immediate  vicinity  of  his  mouth,  however,  was 
pliable  and  good-humored,  and,  in  fact,  looked  as  if  neither  can 
nor  meanness  had  ever  been  permitted  to  have  a  pull  upon  it.  Hi* 
hair  was  pushed  rudely  away  from  a  compact,  well-filled  forehead 
the  lids  were  habitually  drawn  together  around  his  small  twink 
ling  grey  eyes,  and  his  head  was  set  forward  upon  his  shoulders 
in  the  attitude  of  one  giving  close  attention.  A  very  carelessly- 
tied  cravat,  coat-sleeves  turned  back  over  the  wrist,  and  hands 
that  evidently  never  wore  a  glove,  showed  that  the  passion  for 
fashionable  life,  which  reigned  up  stairs,  had  little  influence  on 
the  thoughts  or  toilettes  in  the  basement  below. 

Yet,  to  the  policy  or  proceedings  of  his  wife,  to  her  expensive- 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  265 


ness,  or  her  choice  of  friends,  her  hours  of  going  or  coming,  her 
intimacies  or  her  ambitions,  Mr.  Leathers  made  no  manner  of 
objection.  He  differed  wholly  from  her  in  her  valuation  of 
things  and  people,  and,  perhaps,  there  was  a  little  dislike  of 
trouble  in  his  avoidance  of  the  desperate  task  of  setting  her  right ; 
but  there  was  another  and  less  easily  divined  reason  for  his 
strange  letting  of  Mrs.  Leathers  have  her  own  silly  way  so 
entirely.  There  was  a  romantic  chivalry  of  mind,  laid  away, 
unticketted  and  unsuspected  by  himself,  in  a  corner  of  his  capa 
cious  brain,  and,  silly  woman  as  she  was,  he  had  married  her  for 
love.  In  the  suburb  where  he  had  found  her,  she  was  a  sort  of 
school  girl  belle,  and,  as  he  had  not  then  struck  his  vein  of 
prosperity,  and  was  but  a  poor  clerk,  with  his  capacities  unsus 
pected,  her  station  in  life  was  superior  to  his,  and  he  had  first 
taken  her  to  his  bosom  with  the  feeling  of  a  plebeian  honored  with 
the  condescending  affection  of  a  fair  patrician. 

To  this  feeling  of  gratitude,  though  they  had  so  essentially 
changed  places — he  having  given  her  a  carriage  as  a  millionaire's 
wife,  and  she  having  only  grown  silly,  and  lost  her  beauty — he 
remained  secretly  and  superstitiously  loyal.  It  was  his  proud 
pleasure  to  give  her  everything  she  could  ask  for,  and  still  retain 
his  nominal  attitude  as  the  receiver  of  favor.  He  never,  by  look 
or  word,  let  Mrs.  Leathers  understand  that  the  promise  of  eternal 
love  was  not  a  promise,  religiously  to  pay.  Of  the  dis-illusion  in 
his  heart — of  his  real  judgment  of  her  character — of  the  entire 
abandonment,  by  his  reason,  of  all  the  castles  in  the  air  for  which 
he  had  romantically  married — she,  fortunately,  never  had  a  sus 
picion,  or  asked  a  question,  and  he  would  have  cut  off  his  hand 
sooner  than  enlighten  her.  In  public  he  assumed  a  manner  of 
respect  and  devotion,  because  his  good  sense  told  him  there  might 
12 


266  LOVE,  OF    SOME   SORT. 


be  those  who  would  think  ill  of  her  if  he  did  not.  Ignorant  of  the 
motive,  and  his  appearance  not  being  fashionable,  Mrs.  Leathers 
would  often  rather  have  been  waited  on  by  Mr.  Cyphers,  and  this 
the  husband  saw  without  uneasiness,  and  would  have  yielded  to, 
but  for  the  wish  to  serve  her,  in  spite  of  herself.  With  this  single 
exception  of  occasional  contradictoriness,  and  the  exercise  of 
quiet  and  prior  authority — as  to  his  own  hours  of  dining,  and  his 
own  comforts,  and  those  of  hunchback  Lucy,  in  the  basement 
the  stock-broker  and  his  establishment  were  under  the  apparently 
complete  control  of  Mrs.  Leathers,  and,  thereby,  in  a  state  of 
candidacy  for  admission  into  the  list  of  New  York  fashionable 
aristocracy. 

Of  course,  Leathers,  the  stock-broker,  had  a  heart ;  and,  like 
other  hearts,  human  and  disappointed,  it  might  have  buried  its 
hopes  without  a  funeral,  and  sought  consolation  elsewhere  without 
a  drum.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  love  and  love  well. 
How  long  a  want  of  this  nature  may  go  unexplained  in  the  breast 
that  feels  it — the  love-needing  man  being  miserable,  he  knows 
not  why — depends  on  circumstances ;  but,  as  Leathers  was 
beginning  to  turn  his  un-escapeable  business  faculty  of  attention 
upon  himself  to  see  what  the  deuce  he  wanted,  and  how  to  get  it, 
he  was  accidentally  appointed,  by  the  whim  of  a  nominating  com 
mittee,  one  of  the  wardens  of  a  poor-house.  Compelled,  for  his 
character's  sake,  to  visit  and  report  upon  the  condition  of  this 
establishment,  he  chanced  to  see,  in  one  of  the  wards,  a  little 
orphan  hunchback,  whose  pitiful  and  delicate  face  excited  his 
compassion.  His  unemployed  heart  sprang  to  the  child — he 
adopted  her,  and  took  her  home — gave  Mrs.  Leathers  a  carriage 
and  horses  on  the  same  day,  to  appease  and  propitiate  her — and 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  267 

thenceforward  had  an  object  of  affection,  which,  (engrossed  with 
business  as  he  was,)  sufficed  to  fill  the  void  in  his  existence. 

Lucy  had  no  other  name,  that  she    knew  of,  but   that   was 
enough.     Her  education  had  been  such  as  she  could  pick  up  in 
an  alms-house,  but  she  was  fond  of  reading,  and  passionately 
fond  of  music,  and  when  her  benefactor  was  not  at  home,  she 
was  happy  with  her  books  in  the    arm-chair,  or  with  her  piano, 
and  Mrs.  Leathers  seldom  saw  her  except  at  breakfast.     Lucy 
thought  the  stock-broker  an  angel,  and  so,  to  her,  he  was.     He 
loved  her  with  a  tear  in  his  throat,  and  kissed  her  small,  white 
forehead  at  night  and  morning,  with  a  feeling  many  a  brilliant 
beauty  has  sighed  in  vain  to  awaken.     At  half-past  three,  every 
day,  Leathers  alighted  from  the  omnibus,  at  his  own  house,  hav 
ing,  perhaps,   passed  his  wi£e  in  her  carriage,  on  his  way  up  from 
Wall  street,  and,  with  an  eager  happiness,  unexplained  to  him 
self,  went  in  at  the  basement  door  and  sat  down  to  his  punctual 
dinner.     Lucy  dined  with  him,  or  sat  by  the  fire.     From   the 
moment  of  his  entering  she  had  no  thought,  wish,  or  attention, 
for  anything  but  him.     Her  little  thin  lips  wore  an  involuntary 
smile,  and  her  soft,  blue  eyes  fairly  leaned  up  against  his  heart  in 
their  complete  absorption  in  what  he  said.     She  showed  the  most 
pleasure,  however,  when  he  talked  most  about  himself,  and,  by 
questions  and  leadings  of  the  conversation,  she  drew  from  him, 
daily,  the  history  of  his  morning,  his  hopes,  successes,  obstacles 
or  disappointments. 

He  did  not  confess  to  her,  for  he  did  not  confess  to  himself, 
why  this  or  that  "  operation"  had  pleased  him,  but  there  was 
sympathy  in  having  its  mere  mention  heard  with  earnest  atten- 
tiveness,  and  he  felt  expanded  and  lightened  at  heart  by  her 


268  DRAMATIC    STOCK-BROKER. 


smile  or  nod  of  congratulation.  This  daily  recital,  with  its 
interruptions  and  digressions,  usually  occupied  the  hour  of  dinner, 
and  then,  genial  with  his  glass  of  wine  and  his  day's  work, 
Leathers  drew  up  his  chair  to  Lucy's,  and  had  no  earthly  de 
sire,  save  the  passing  of  his  evening  between  her  talk  and  his 
newspaper. 

Little  stuff  for  poetry  as  there  would  seem  to  be  in  Wall-street 
mornings,  Leathers  was  not  undramatic,  in  his  view  of  his  own 
worldly  position,  and  in  his  descriptions  of  business  operations  to 
Lucy.  He  had,  early  in  life,  looked  askance,  with  some  bitter 
ness,  at  people  with  whom  he  could  never  compete,  and  at  refine 
ments  and  advantages  he  could  never  attain.  Too  sensible  a  man 
to  play  a  losing  game  at  anything,  he  had  stifled  his  desire  to 
shine,  and  locked  down  the  natural  chivalry,  for  which,  with  his 
lack  of  graces,  he  was  so  certain  to  lack  appreciation.  In  giving 
up  all  hope  of  distinction  in  matters  of  show,  however,  he  had 
prepared  himself  to  enjoy  more  keenly  the  satisfaction  of  control 
ling  those  who  were  its  masters,  and  it  was  this  secret  feeling  of 
supremacy,  over  the  very  throne  of  the  empire  that  had  rejected 
and  exiled  him,  which  gave  his  business  the  zest  of  a  tourney,  and 
made  him  dwell  on  its  details,  with  delight  in  Lucy's  eager  and 
sympathetic  listening. 

The  household,  in  short,  went  on  very  harmoniously.  Mrs. 
Leathers  was  never  up  at  breakfast,  and  usually  made  her  dinner 
of  the  lunch  in  her  boudoir,  at  which  Mr.  Cyphers  daily  played  a 
part,  and  drank  his  bottle  of  champagne.  Leathers  was  asleep 
when  she  went  to  bed,  she  asleep  when  he  got  up  ;  she  spent 
money  without  stint,  and  used  her  carriage  as  she  and  Mr.  Cy 
phers  pleased,  and  that  made  all  comfortable  above  stairs.  Be- 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  269 

low.  Leathers  was  autocrat  undisputed,  and  all  was  happiness 
there. 


PART    III. 

WILL    MRS.    INGULPHUS    CALL  ? 

By  the  French  clock,  it  was  getting  towards  half-past  four  in 
the  drawing-room.  At  five  minutes  to  four,  Mrs.  Leathers  had 
ordered  Fuzzard  to  oil  the  joint  of  the  door-bell,  for  it  was  incon 
ceivable  that  nobody  should  have  come,  and  perhaps  the  bell 
wouldn't  ring.  Ladies  in  good  society  would  give  up  an  acquaint 
ance  rather  than  split  their  gloves  open  with  straining  at  a  tight 
bell-handle—so  Mr.  Cyphers  seriously  assured  her. 

The  afternoon  wore  on,  and  still  no  sign  of  a  visitor.  Of  her 
unfashionable  acquaintances  she  was  sure  not  to  see  one,  for,  on 
them,  Mrs.  Leathers  had  left  "  At  Homes"  for  Saturday,  to  pre 
serve  an  uncontaminated  "  Friday"  for  the  list  made  out  by  Mr. 
Cyphers. 

Mrs.  Leathers  walked  the  room  nervously,  and,  at  every  turn, 
looked  through  the  lace  curtain  of  her  front  window. 

"  I'll  move  from  this  house,"  said  the  unhappy  woman,  twisting 
her  handkerchief  around  her  elbow  and  thumb,  "  for  there  are 
those  vSneden  girls  opposite,  with  their  bonnets  on,  peeping 
through  the  blinds,  and,  if  nobody  comes,  they'll  stay  away  them 
selves  and  tell  everybody  else.  Mr.  Cyphers  !  if  some  carriage 
don't  stop  at  the  door  before  dark,  I  shall  die  !  How  came  you 


270  THE  BNEDENS 


to  put  those  nasty  Snedens  on  the  list,  Mr.  Cyphers  ?     To  leave 
a  card  and  not  have  it  returned,  is  so  mortifying  !" 

"  Nasty  Snedens,  as  you  say,"  echoed  Cyphers,  "  but  it's  no 
use  to  despise  people  till  you  have  something  to  refuse.  Wait 
till  they  want  to  come  to  a  party  because  Mrs.  Ingulphus  is 
coming !" 

"  Why,  do  the  Snedens  know  Mrs.  Ingulphus  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Leathers,  half  incredulously. 

"  Know  her  ? — she  couldn't  live  without  them  !"  and  glad  of 
anything  to  take  off  the  attention  of  his  friend  from  her  disap 
pointment,  and  enliven  the  dullness  of  that  very  long  morning, 
Cyphers  proceeded  to  define  the  Snedens. 

"  They  are  of  a  class  of  families,"  he  continued,  "  common  to 
every  well-regulated  society, — all  girls  and  all  regular  failures — 
a  sort  of  collapsed-looking  troop  of  young  ladies,  plain  and  good 
for  nothing,  but  dying  to  be  fashionable.  Every  stylish  person 
at  the  head  of  a  set  has  one  such  family  in  her  train." 

"  But  what  on  earth  can  the  Snedens  do  for  Mrs.  Ingulphus  r" 
inquired  Mrs.  Leathers  rather  listlessly. 

"  Why,  they  pick  up  her  scandal,  do  her  cheap  shopping,  cir 
culate  what  she  wants  known,  put  down  reports  about  her,  collect 
compliments,  entertain  bores,  praise  her  friends  and  ridicule  her 
rivals — dirty  work  you  may  say,  but  has  to  be  done  !  No  '  posi 
tion'  without  it — I  assure  you  I  have  come  to  that  conclusion.  In 
natural  history  there  is  a  corresponding  class — jackals.  As 
clever  what-d'ye-call-him  says,  a  leader  of  fashion  without 
family  of  girls  of  disappointed  prospects,  is  like  a  lion  starving  tc 
.death  for  want  of  jackals." 

*•'  Twenty  minutes  to  five !"  digressed  Mrs.  Leathers  j  "  I  won 
der  if  Mrs.  Ingulphns  is  sick  !  Oh,  Mr.  Cyphers !"  she  con 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  271 

tinued,  in  a  tone  of  as  much  anguish  as  she  could  possibly  feel, 
"canH  you  go  round  and  implore  her — beg  her— anything  to 
make  her  come — only  this  once  !  You  told  me  you  knew  her  so 
well,  and  she  was  certain  to  be  here  !" 

Cyphers,  in  fact,  had  about  given  up  Mrs.  Leathers's  "  Friday 
morning"  as  a  failure  ;  but  he  went  on  consoling.  The  light 
perceptibly  lessened  in  the  room.  It  was  evident  that  the  even 
ing,  without  any  regard  to  Mrs.  Leathers's  feelings,  was  about  to 
close  over  the  visiting  hour.  Meantime,  however,  a  scene  had 
been  going  on  in  the  basement,  which  eventually  had  an  import 
ant  influence  on  Mrs.  Leathers's  "  Friday  mornings,"  and  of 
which  we  must,  therefore,  give  the  reader  a  glimpse,  though,  (our 
story  is  getting  so  long,)  we  must  confine  ourselves  to  its  closing 
tableau. 


PART    IV. 

WHAT    BROUGHT    MRS.    INGULPHUS. 

A  middle-aged  man,  of  a  very  high-bred  mould  of  feature,  sat 
on  the  forward  edge  of  a  chair,  leaning  far  over  the  table  toward 
Mr.  Leathers.  He  was  dressed  for  a  dinner  party,  and  a  pair  of 
white  gloves  lay  on  the  cloth  beside  him  ;  but  his  face  looked 
very  little  like  that  of  a  man  on  his  way  to  a  festivity.  The 
sweat  stood  in  large  drops  on  his  forehead  and  upper  lip.  His 
closed  left  hand  was  clutched  in  the  palm  of  his  right ;  his 
elbows  were  crowded  to  his  side  ;  his  drawn-up  shoulders  crushed 
his  white  cravat  into  a  wisp  under  his  pars,  and  he  sat  with  his 


272  ARISTOCRATIC   RELIANCES. 


mouth  partly  open,  and  eyes  glaring  upon  the  stock-broker,  as  if 
expecting  life  or  death  from  his  immediate  decision.  Lucy  sat  in 
her  chair,  looking  on,  but  not  with  her  ordinary  calmness.  Her 
lips  were  trembling  to  speak,  and  her  thin  hand  clutched  the  han 
dle  of  the  lever  which  moved  her  patent  chair,  while  her  little 
bent  back  was  lifted  from  its  supporting  cushion,  with  the  prepa 
ratory  effort  to  wheel  forward.  Leathers,  on  whom  her  moist 
eyes  were  intently  fixed,  sat  gazing  on  a  bundle  of  papers,  with 
his  under  lip  pinched  between  his  knuckle  and  thumb. 

"  Think,  I  implore,  before  you  decide,"  said  the  visitor,  at  last, 
breaking  the  silence.  "  You  are  my  last  hope  !  I  could  not 
plead  with  you  this  morning  in  Wall  street.  I  should  have  be 
trayed  myself  to  people  coming  in.  I  did  not  then  think  of 
asking  you  again.  I  went  home,  despairing.  Afraid — yes, 
afraid — to  stay  alone  with  my  own  thoughts,  I  dressed  to  go  out. 
My  wife  will  be  here  in  a  moment  to  take  me  up,  on  her  way  to  a 
dinner-party.  Oh  God !  how  little  she  dreams  we  may  be 
beggars  to-morrow!" 

He  pressed  his  forehead  between  his  two  hands  for  a  moment, 
and  crowded  his  elbows  down  upon  the  table.  Lucy  rolled  her 
chair  a  little  forward,  but  Leathers  motioned  her  back. 

"  You  may  think,"  he  resumed,  "  that  I  might  go  to  others — 
more  intimate  friends — in  such  extremity — family  friends.  But 
I  know  them.  It  would  be  utterly  in  vain,  Mr.  Leathers !  1 
have  no  friend,  much  less  a  relative,  in  the  world,  of  the  least  use 
in  misfortune.  I  had  strained  my  credit  to  the  last  thread  before 
coming  to  you,  in  Wall  street.  Why  I  suddenly  resolved  to 
come  to  you,  here,  with  no  claim,  ami  at  such  an  unfit  hour  for 
business,  1  know  not.  Instinct  prompted.  It  seemed  to  me, 
while  I  was  dressing,  like  tho  whisper  of  nn  ansrol !" 


AN  UP-TOWN  CRISIS.  273 

Leathers  made  a  movement  as  if  to  speak. 

"  Take  care,  sir  !  for  God's  sake,  take  care  !  With  one  word 
you  may  bind  me  to  you  while  I  live,  with  the  gratitude  of  des 
peration,  or  you  plunge  me  into  ruin  !" 

The  stock-broker  took  up  the  schedules  of  property  which  lay 
before  him,  and,  after  an  instant's  hesitation,  pushed  them  across 
the  table.  During  the  half-hour,  while  proud  Ingulphus,  the 
millionaire,  had  been  pleading  with  him  for  salvation  from  ruin, 
he  had  not  been  examining  these,  though  his  eyes  were  bent  on 
them.  He  had  satisfied  himself  of  their  unavailable  value,  before 
his  refusal  of  the  morning.  The  struggle  in  his  heart  between 
pity  and  prudence  occupied  him  now.  He  knew  that  the  chances 
were  against  his  ever  seeing  again  the  very  large  sum  necessary  to 
prevent  the  present  bankruptcy  of  Ingulphus,  and  that  a  turn  in 
business  might  make  the  same  urgently  necessary  to  himself  to 
morrow — but  his  compassion  was  moved.  He  would  have  refused 
over  again,  outright  and  without  ceremony,  in  Wall  street ;  but 
Ingulphus  had  taken  him  at  a  business  disadvantage,  with  his 
heart  uppermost  and  open,  and  a  pleading  angel  listening  and 
looking  on. 

As  the  three  sat  silent,  pity  gradually  overcoming  the  reluctant 
prudence  of  the  stock-broker's  judgment,  there  was  a  dash  of 
wheels  and  hoofs  upon  the  clear  pavement  near  the  curb-stone,  a 
sudden  pull-up,  and  the  splendid  equipage  of  the  Ingulphuses 
stood  at  Leathers's  door.  Lucy's  heart  sank  within  her,  for  she 
had  been  praying  to  Heaven,  with  all  her  might  of  sympathy  and 
inward  tears,  for  the  success  of  the  plea,  and  she  felt  that  the 
influence  of  this  ostentatious  arrival  was  unfavorable.  Leathers 
looked  over  his  shoulder  into  the  street,  and  rose  from  his  chair  as 
the  footman  in  livery  crossed  the  sidewalk  to  ring  the  bell, 
12* 


274  AN   ANGEL'S   PLEA. 


u  For  God's  sake !"  gasped  the  desperate  pleader,  in  an 
agonised  tone,  knitting  his  hands  together,  and  turning  his  face 
with  the  movement,  as  the  stock-lbroker  took  his  stand  before  the 
fire. 

There  was  refusal  in  the  attitude  of  Leathers,  and  in  his  brow, 
compressed  with  the  effort  to  utter  it. 

The  thin,  white  fingers  of  the  little  hunchback  gently  took  the 
hand  of  her  benefactor — now  brought  within  her  reach — and  held 
it  to  her  lips,  while  the  tears  dropped  upon  it  freely. 

"  For  my  sake  /"  she  murmured,  in  a  tone  of  appealing  and 
caressing  tenderness,  which  a  more  hard-hearted  man  than  her 
benefactor  would  have  been  troubled  to  resist. 

Leathers  turned  and  opened  his  large  eyes  with  an  expression 
of  sudden  tenderness  upon  her. 

"  For  your  sake  be  it,  then,  my  sweet  child !"  he  said,  giving 
her  a  kiss  with  a  rapid  movement,  as  if  his  heart  had  joyfully 
broken  through  its  restraint  with  the  impulse  she  had  lent  it. 

u  And  now,  for  the  sake  of  this  little  angel,  Mr.  Ingulphus," 
he  continued — 

But  the  sudden  rush  of  hope,  and  the  instant  relaxation  of 
despair,  were  too  much  for  the  high-strung  frame  of  the  proud 
suppliant. 

Excited  to  the  utmost  tension  by  anxiety,  and,  doubtless,  for 
months  overdone  with  sleeplessness  and  fatigue,  his  nervous 
system  gave  way,  and,  as  Leathers  turned  to  him  from  Lucy,  he 
fell  fainting  from  his  chair. 

To  ring  the  bell  and  send  suddenly  to  the  carriage  for  Mrs. 
Ingulphus,  was  the  work  of  a  moment ;  and,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  Snedens  opposite,  and  the  mingled  relief  and  surprise  of 
Cyphers  and  Mrs.  Leathers,  who  were  peeping  at  the  carriage 


AN    UP-TOWN  CRISIS. 


from  the  drawing-room  window,  the  queen  of  the  up-town  fashion 
ran  up  the  steps,  in  full  dinner-dress,  and  went  in  at  the 
Leathers's  ! 

A  present  of  a  bouquet  with  the  Snedens's  card  the  next 
morning  was  the  beginning  of  Mrs.  Leathers's  recognition  by  the 
discriminating  paste-board  of  fashion— but  there  are  many,  who, 
(till  they  read  this  story),  have  considered  Mrs.  Leathers's  ad 
mission  to  the  "  Ingulphus's  set,"  as  one  of  the  most  inexplicable 
mysteries  of  this  astounding  century. 


THE  ICY  VEIL; 

OR,  THE  KEYS  TO  THREE  HEARTS  THOUGHT  COLD. 


ON  an  afternoon  of  Autumn's  tranquillizing  and  thoughtful 
sweetness,  the  public  band,  in  the  Rosenthal  of  Leipsic,  chanced 
upon  an  air  that  troubled  the  tears  of  a  lady  among  the  listeners. 
The  music,  which  is  sometimes  stationed  at  a  small  garden  nearer 
the  town,  was,  for  that  day,  at  the  cafe,  deeper  in  the  wood ;  and 
the  small  tables  scattered  around  beneath  the  trees,  were,  at  this 
hour,  covered  by  the  coffee  and  ices  of  the  crowd,  an  untouched 
glass  of  sherbet  (her  apology  for  occupancy  of  a  chair)  standing 
before  the  lady  to  whose  heart  the  music,  as  it  seemed,  had  an 
errand.  It  was  an  hour  every  way  delicious,  and  to  all  there  who 
had  not,  in  their  own  bosoms,  the  discontent  that  dissolved  the 
spell,  the  gardens  of  the  Rosenthal  were,  for  that  evening, 
enchanted.  The  shadow  under  the  thick  grove  was  golden  with 
the  coming  sunset.  The  gaily-painted  porticoes  of  the  little 
maison  de  plaisance  looked  festal  with  the  addition  of  the  bright 
colors  of  shawls  and  bonnets,  students'  caps  and  soldiers'  uni 
forms.  The  avenues  around  were  thronged  with  promenaders. 
Flower-girls  curtsied  about  with  baskets  of  roses. 

The  lady  in  the  simple  straw  bonnet  was  alone,  except  that  a 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  277 


servant,  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the  wicket  enclosure,  unob- 
strusively  kept  her  in  sight.  She  was  dressed  with  a  skill  detect 
able  only  by  those  of  her  own  class  in  life,  and,  to  all  eyes, 
plainly ;  but  the  slender  wreath  of  blue  and  crimson  flowers 
which  lay  well  back  between  the  bonnet  and  the  oval  of  her 
cheek,  betrayed  an  unwillingness  that  the  dark  hair  should  be 
robbed  wholly  of  embellishing  contrast,  and  her  movements, 
though  habitual  and  unthought  of,  were  those  of  unerring  elegance, 
impressed  (indefinably  but  effectually)  with  a  singular  pride  and 
majesty.  Beauty,  such  as  is  appreciable  by  common  eyes,  she 
had  not.  The  freshness  of  youth  had  departed  ;  but,  to  the  few 
who  know,  at  first  sight,  the  lustrous  up-gleaming  from  a  warm 
heart  deeply  covered,  she  would,  at  this  moment,  have  seemed 
more  beautiful  than  in  youth.  The  morning  light  throws  a  glitter 
upon  the  surface  of  the  sea,  that  pleases  the  thoughtless ;  but  the 
diver  for  pearls  finds  more  beauty  in  the  unglittering  profound 
ness  of  the  sea's  look  at  noon. 

Betrayals  by  angels  (it  may  be  !)  of  what  the  pride  would 
wrongfully  conceal,  are  the  tears,  so  little  subject  to  the  bidding 
of  the  eyes  that  shed  them ;  and  those  to  which  the  music  of  the 
Rosenthal  had  so  unexpectedly  called  upon  to  give  testimony, 
were  destined  to  fulfil  their  mission.  A  new  comer  to  the  crowd 
had  taken  his  seat  at  a  table  under  the  portico — a  young  man  of 
remarkable  beauty  of  person — and,  at  the  same  moment  that, 
with  a  start  of  surprise,  he  rose  to  address  the  lady  as  a  recognized 
acquaintance,  her  suffused  eyes  arrested  his  attention,  and  pre 
vented  what  would  have  been,  at  that  moment,  an  evident 
intrusion.  Resuming  his  seat,  and  guarding  against  recognition, 
by  bringing  the  lattice  of  the  portico  between  himself  and  his 
discovery,  he  had  leisure,  during  the  playing  of  an  overture  of 


278  SUPPRESSED   RECOGNITION. 


Mozart,  to  marvel  at  so  singular  a  rencontre  in  a  public  garden  of 
Lcipsic  ;  and  still  more,  at  such  a  miracle  of  things  out  of  place, 
as  tears  in  the  cold  eyes  of  a  woman  he  had  thought  made  of 
marble ! 

W  ith  his  fancy  weaving  cobwebs  of  conjecture  on  these  points, 
however,  the  attention  of  the  stranger  was,  a  second  time, 
arrested.  A  Tyrolese  glove-girl,  in  the  drooping  hat  and  short 
green  petticoat  of  her  country,  had  approached  him  with  her  box 
suspended  over  her  shoulder,  and,  with  a  second  glance  at  her 
face,  he  had  smilingly  removed  his  ring,  and  extended  his  hand  to 
be  fitted  with  a  specimen  of  her  merchandise  ;  availing  himself  of 
the  opportunity  to  study  her  features  with  the  absorbing  gaze  of 
an  artist.  His  mind  was  pre-occupied,  however.  Hours  after,  the 
peculiar  value  (artistically  speaking)  of  the  physiognomy  he  thus 
unconsciously  stored  away,  became  for  the  first  time  apparent  to 
him,  and  he  wondered  that  he  could  have  parted,  so  carelessly,  with 
a  face  so  full  of  meaning  But  his  own  features — beautiful  to  a 
degree  seldom  seen  in  the  person  of  a  man — were  destined  to  be 
better  remembered. 

The  music  ceased  suddenly,  and  the  lady  in  the  straw  bonnet, 
followed  at  a  distance  by  her  servant,  took  her  way  long  the 
meadow-path  of  the  Rosenthal.  After  a  few  steps  she  was  over 
taken  by  the  artist. 

"  The  Countess  Isny-Frere,  or  her  apparition,  I  believe  !"  he 
said,  removing  his  hat  and  addressing  her  with  the  deference  of  a 
ceremonious  acquaintance. 

She  stopped  suddenly,  with  a  look  that  began  in  unwelcome 
surprise,  and  ended  in  well-bred  carelessness. 

"  I  must  rally,  to  think  which  it  is  that  you  see,"  she  replied, 
"  for  (I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Tremlet,  I  believe) 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  379 


the  sight  of  an  English  face  has  startled  me,  soul  or  body,  quite 
out  of  Leipsic  !" 

"  And  may  I  ask,  meantime,  what  Leipsic  has  done  to  deserve 
a  visit  from  the  Countess  Isny-Frere  r"  he  gayly  continued — but 
the  next  instant  he  remembered  that  he  had  but  just  now  seen 
tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  stately  person  he  was  addressing,  and  his 
tone  and  manner  became  suddenly  thoughtful  and  subdued.  The 
transition  was  one  of  insensible  ease,  however — the  certainty  that 
he  was  thus  ministering  to  her  chance  mood  giving  him  a  confi 
dence,  the  key  to  which  she  was  little  aware  of  having  herself 
furnished ;  and,  as  they  slowly  paced  the  smooth  walk  of  the 
Rosenthal,  the  two,  who  had  never  before  met  but  as  formal  ac 
quaintances,  fell  gradually  far  within  the  limits  of  ceremonious 
reserve. 

The  darkly-shaded  avenue  that  alternately  touches  and  recedes 
from  the  banks  of  the  Elster,  is  like  a  succession  of  approaches 
to  lovely  pictures — so  beautiful  are  the  sudden  disclosures  of  the 
secluded  bends  of  the  river,  at  the  openings  contrived  for  the 
purpose.  At  each  opening  there  is  a  seat  beneath  the  trees,  the 
swift  waters-  curling  its  eddies  to  the  bank  on  which  it  is  placed, 
and  he  would  be  a  cold  observer  of  Nature  who  could  pass  such 
landscapes  without  availing  himself  of  the  opportunity  to  loiter. 
Seated  in  these  successive  nooks,  and  leisurely  pacing  the  wind 
ing  alleys  that  intervene,  Tremlet  and  the  Countess  had  each  the 
leisure  to  weigh  the  expediency  of  extending  acquaintance  into 
friendship  ;  though,  in  the  mind  of  each,  an  under-current  of 
wondering  reverie  kept  pace  with  the  conversation — each  other's 
capability  of  natural  and  tender  thoughtfulness  being  a  mutual  and 
most  pleasurable  surprise.  To  Tremlet,  more  particularly,  the 
riddle  was  inexplicable,  for  the  Countess's  simple  and  confiding 


280  ERRAND  HITHER. 

ingenuousness  was  wholly  irreconcilable  with  her  character  as  a 
heartless  leader  of  fashion.  Her  house,  of  all  resorts  of  exclu- 
siveness,  in  London,  was  the  one,  he  believed,  the  most  heart 
lessly  frequented,  and  she  herself  known,  even  among  her  friends, 
by  the  appellation  of  the  "  cold  Countess,"  was  esteemed,  by  so 
ciety  at  large,  as  the  pre-eminent  model  of  a  worldling — proud, 
cautious,  and  passionless. 

Tremlet's  errand  to  Germany  was  briefly  told.  He  was  uni 
ting  a  partly  professional  object  with  a  summer's  excursion. 
The  great  Fair  of  Leipsic  had  drawn  him  hither  from  the  Rhine, 
for  in  no  other  gathering  in  the  world,  perhaps,  are  there  assem 
bled  so  many  varieties  of  strange  costume  and  physiognomy  ;  and 
in  a  week's  jostling  among  the  long-robed  and  bearded  Hebrews, 
the  green-jacketed  Tyrolese,  the  mild  Hungarians,  and  the  Ger 
man  mountaineers  and  students,  he  looked  to  find  novel  subjects 
for  his  pencil.  But  this  was  not  all.  He  had  been  long  seeking 
a  model  of  female  beauty  for  an  unfinished  picture — one  which 
he  designed  for  the  chef  cPauvre  of  his  pencil — and  the  peculiar 
quality  of  maiden  countenance  that  was  necessary  to  its  comple 
tion  had  evaded,  thus  far,  both  his  search  among  the  living,  and 
his  imaginative  conception.  As  the  subject  of  the  picture  had 
been  suggested  by  one  of  the  wild  legends  of  Tieck,  he  thought 
it  more  probable  that  he  should  find  the  face  also  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  the  first  inspiration. 

"  And,  strangely  enough,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  I  saw  a  glove-girl  in  the  garden  where  I  met  you,  whose  coun 
tenance  impresses  me  more  in  remembrance  than  when  I  saw  it 
— possibly  one  of  those  faces  that  lack  but  the  heightening  of  their 
natural  expression  to  become  beautiful." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  recalling  musingly  the  singular  counte- 


THE    ICY    VEIL.  281 


nance  of  the  Tyrolese,  and  mentally  resolving  to  find  her  on  the 
morrow,  and  induce  her  to  sit  to  him  for  a  portrait  of  careful 
study.  The  Countess  at  this  moment  chose  the  left  of  two  paths 
— the  one  which  she  took  leading  in  the  direction  opposite  from 
the  return  through  the  Park. 

"  It  is  my  turn  at  the  confessional,"  she  said,  "  and"— (she 
hesitated,  coloring  slightly) — "  I  presume  it  would  be  my  best 
policy,  if  I  am  not  to  part  from  you  before  going  further,  to  be 
frank  as  to  the  '  wherefore'  of  my  summering  here  at  Leipsic. 
Whole  secrets,"  she  added,  smilingly,  "  are  better  kept  than 
halves,  and  less  dangerous  if  told." 

She  resumed  after  a  few  steps  onward. 

"  You  will  be  surprised  to  discover  how  little  mystery  there 
need  be,  properly,  in  what  looks  at  first  sight  so  formidably  mys 
terious—my  giving  up  of  friends  and  identity  for  four  months  in 
the  year — but  my  friends  in  England  should  be  as  welcome  to  the 
secret  as  you  will  be,  if  they  could  comprehend  it,  or  would  give 
any  credit,  indeed,  either  to  the  simplicity  of  my  life  here,  or  its 
still  more  incredibly  simple  motive.  You  know  how  I  live  in 
London.  I  lack  nothing  there  that  can  be  given  to  a  woman  of 
wealth  and  position.  But  I  have  another  home  which  is  far 
sweeter  to  me — a  small  house  in  a  village  adjoining  this  Park  of 
the  Rosenthal.  The  exterior  of  this  little  retreat,  which  I  will 
presently  show  you,  looks  as  it  did  when  I  first  saw  it — like  the 
house  of  a  German  villager — but  the  interior  is,  of  course,  suited 
to  my  taste  and  liking.  The  village,  by  the  way,  is  celebrated  as 
having  been  the  residence  of  Schiller,  who  lodged  for  some  time  in 
one  of  its  humble  houses,  and  wrote  here  his  famous  '  Song  to 
Joy' — but  it  is  a  veritable  village  at  this  day,  and,  though  a  most 
desirable  residence,  as  standing  on  the  skirt  of  a  Park  which 


282  A  SECRET   II Oil  r. 


alone  separates  it  from  Leipsic,  it  is  inhabited  only  by  veritable 
villagers — myself  hardly  a  noticeable  exception.  Here  I  have  a 
faithful  household  of  servants  who  know  me  but  by  the  German 
name  of  my  husband's  family — (by-the-bye,  remember  to  address 
me  in  conversation  as  Madame  Isny) — and  who  serve  me  without  a 
question,  as  a  widow  who  has  reasons  for  being  absent  a  great 
part  of  the  year.  But  the  sunset  is  losing  its  brilliancy.  Let  us 
hasten  our  steps  towards  this  mysterious  c  whereabout'  of  mine. 
Over  a  cup  of  tea,  I  may,  perhaps,  tell  you  its  '  why  and  where 
fore.'" 

A  sudden  turn  from  the  graveled  walk  of  the  Park  brought 
them  to  a  rude  and  picturesque  bridge  over  a  mill-stream,  and  a 
narrow  lane  led  thence  to  the  village.  The  street  upon  which 
they  entered  was  a  common  thoroughfare,  between  irregular  rows 
of  houses,  each  with  its  rough  gate  and  shrubbery,  and  the  hum 
ble  entrance  to  one  of  these,  which  was  in  no  way  distinguished 
from  the  rest,  was  opened  by  the  plainly  dressed  servant  of  the 
Countess.  A  small  garden,  arranged  after  the  common  manner 
of  the  country,  separated  the  front  door  from  the  neighbor's  wall. 

The  entry  was  of  German  simplicity,  and  a  small  room  on  the 
right,  in  which  the  Countess  first,  with  mischievous  formality,  re 
quested  Tremlet  to  be  seated,  was  uncarpeted  and  furnished  with 
the  ill-contrived  conveniencies  of  a  German  parlor — evidently 
kept  as  a  place  of  reception  for  any  intrusive  visitor  whose  curi 
osity  might  be  troublesome.  But,  from  the  landing  of  the  dark 
staircase  leading  to  the  second-story,  Tremlet  entered  an  apart 
ment  occupying  the  whole  upper  floor  of  the  house,  and  here  he 
recognized,,  at  once,  a  fitting  home  for  the  luxurious  habits  of  the 
inmate.  It  was  a  blending  of  boudoir  and  library,  in  which  there 
was  nothing  merely  for  show,  but  everything  for  luxurious  ease — 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  283 


a  charming  abundance  of  fawn-colored  divans,  bookcases  and 
contrivances  for  comfort — the  mirror  panels  so  multiplying  the 
recesses,  and  so  deceiving  the  eye  as  to  the  space  enclosed  between 
the  walls,  that  it  seemed  a  little  wilderness  of  indefinable  extent 
and  luxury.  The  single  alteration  that  had  been  made  in  the 
exterior  of  the  house  was  in  the  long  window,  from  the  ceiling  to 
the  floor,  which  was  of  a  single  plate  of  glass,  so  clear  that  it  was 
difficult  to  tell  whether  it  was  shut  or  open.  This  costly  change 
in  the  humble  architecture  was  on  the  side  opposite  from  the 
street,  invisible  to  the  passers-by  ;  and  as  the  house  stood  on  the 
little  acclivity  of  the  village,  the  window  commanded  a  lovely 
reach  over  the  Rosenthal,  with  glimpses  of  the  Elster. 

An  artist  of  genius  is  more  than  half  poet,  and  Tremlet's  ap 
preciation  of  this  unsuspected  hiding-place  of  feminine  caprice 
was  glowingly  complete.  Left  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  he  smiled 
as  he  buried  himself  in  the  silken  cushions  of  a  divan,  remember 
ing  how  formally  he  had  visited  in  London  the  presiding  spirit  of 
this  living  romance,  and  how  mistakenly  from  what  he  thus 
hastily  saw  of  her,  he  had  pronounced  upon  her  character  as  cold 
and  ostentatious.  As  yet,  it  is  true,  he  was  in  the  dark  as  to  the 
motive  of  this  singular  seclusion  ;  but  her  conversation  in  the 
Rosenthal  had  been  of  a  thoughtful  and  unaffected  earnestness, 
that  satisfied  him  completely  of  the  elevation  and  purity  of  the 
heart  in  which  the  motive  had  its  source,  however  singular  the 
whim  by  which  it  found  its  way  to  development. 

A  most  delicious  strain  of  music  commenced  suddenly.  It  was 
like  that  of  a  band  stationed  at  just  such  a  distance  that  the 
articulation  of  the  harmony  and  melody  came,  to  the  room  in 
which  he  sat,  softened  to  the  most  dreamy  degree  short  of  indis 
tinctness. 


284  A   LUXURY. 


"  That  is  Beethoven's  Sonata  to  Giulietta,"  said  the  Countess, 
entering,  "  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  eloquent  replies  of  music  to 
the  dumb  questioning  of  a  heart-ache  that  was  ever  vouchsafed  to 
mortal  inspiration.  You  must  not  think  it  theatrical  in  me  to 
have  surprised  you  with  music,"  she  added  with  a  deprecating 
humility,  that  sat  very  gracefully  on  her  proud  lips,  "  for,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  you  have  brought  London  eyes  into  my  hitherto 
unseen  seclusion,  and  I  cannot  resist  feeling,  for  the  moment,  that 
the  ideal  of  the  spot  is  a  little  disenchanted.  The  music  which 
is  ordinarily  my  only  company,  is  so  associated  with  my  solitude 
that  it  will  re-conjure  the  spirit  of  the  spot — but,  meantime,  let 
me  dissolve  the  mystery  of  its  production. 

The  Countess  touched  a  spring  which  threw  open  one  of  the 
mirror  panels  of  the  library,  and  disclosed  a  little  oratory,  or 
chapel,  decorated  simply  with  one  female  figure,  of  exquisite 
sculpture,  whose  face  was  hidden  in  prayer — the  cross  and  the 
devotee  both  in  chased  silver.  This  again  swung  partly  open, 
and  showed  a  closet  in  the  wall,  filled  with  musical  cylinders  like 
the  barrels  of  an  organ. 

"  This,  of  course,"  she  said,  "  is  but  a  musical  box  on  an  ex 
tended  scale,  but  it  has  very  varied  capabilities.  It  was  con 
structed  for  me  by  an  ingenious  Swiss,  who  changes  or  adds  to  its 
numerous  barrels  at  my  pleasure ;  but  I  must  own  that  I  am  as 
little  fickle  in  my  musical  likings  as  in  my  fondness  for  poems, 
and  I  can  scarce  tire  of  a  composition  that  has  once  moved  me. 
You  are  aware  that  several  of  the  composers  of  Germany  have 
tried  their  hands  upon  c  Songs  without  words,'  in  imitation  of  this 
touching  love-letter  in  music,  which  you  have  just  heard,  and 
which  Beethoven  addressed  to  the  high-born  Giulietta.  By  this 
— to  my  apprehension  at  least — they  have  advanced  one  chamber 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  285 

nearer  to  the  inner  sanctuary  of  feeling,  of  which  common  music, 
if  I  may  so  express  it,  fills  only  the  ante-chamber.  I  have  had 
all  these  '  Songs  without  words'  added  to  my  little  musical 
oratory,  and  the  barrels  are  so  arranged  that  I  can  either  select 
the  melodies  I  want,  or  let  them  follow  in  a  chance  succession  of 
several  hours'  continuance.  I  used  to  be  fond  of  the  harp  ;  but 
playing  requires  an  effort — and  to  think  luxuriously  during  music, 
one  should  be  the  listener  and  not  the  player.  Any  trouble  with 
the  procuring  of  music  spoils  it  for  me,  and  if  the  music  is  to  be 
used  as  an  habitual  accompaniment  to  reverie,  some  such  obedient 
automaton  as  this  must  be  resorted  to." 

Tremlet  begged  to  listen  to  it  in  silence  for  awhile. 

"  It  shall  play  while  we  idle  over  our  tea,"  said  the  Countess, 
after  a  few  minutes  of  silent  attention — "  possibly  in  that  time  it 
may  exorcise  the  English  presence  out  of  the  room  ;  but  you  are 
too  new  a  coiner  to  be  admitted  at  once  to  the  full  luxury  of 
silence." 

The  closet  of  music,  with  its  costly  intricacy  of  mechanism, 
was  closed  and  left  to  play.  Its  effects,  softened  with  the  shutting 
of  the  doors,  were  choral  and  orchestral,  and,  in  wonderful 
resemblance  to  the  performances  of  a  troop  of  admirable  musi 
cians,  it  executed  the  delicious  compositions  chosen  as  food  for 
reverie.  The  twilight  had  meantime  died  away,  and  as  the  room 
was  flooded  with  a  soft  light  from  lamps  unseen,  Tremlet  felt 
himself  fully  subject  to  the  influence  of  the  spot. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  place  where  one  might  forget  the  world,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"  It  is  a  place  in  which  to  rest  from  the  world,"  replied  the 
Countess,  "  and  in  that  you  have  the  key  of  the  use  to  which  I 
devote  it.  You  need  not  be  reminded  what  London  is — how 


286  VALUE  OP  HIGH  LIFE. 


wearisome  its  round  of  well-bred  gayeties — how  heartless  and  cold 
its  fashionable  display.     Providence,  I  think,  has  confined  to  a 
comparatively  low  level  the  hearty  and  joyous  sympathies  of  our 
nature  ;  and  it  avenges  the  humble,  that  the  proud,  who  rise  above 
them,  rise  also  above   the  homely  material  for  happiness.     An 
aristocrat  I  am  doomed  to  be.     I  am,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  irre 
vocably  pampered,  and  must  live  and  associate  with  the  class  in 
which  I  have  been  thrown  by  accident  and  education.     But  how 
inexpressibly  tedious  to  me  is  the  round  of  such  a  life,  the  pains  I 
have  here  taken  to  procure  a  respite  from  it,   may,   perhaps, 
partially  convey  to  you.     It  is  possible — probable  indeed — that  I 
entertain  at  my  house  people  who  envy  me  the  splendors  I  dis 
pense,  yet  who  arc  themselves  happier  than  I.     To  young  people, 
for  whom  it  is  a  novelty — to  lovers  whose  happiness  is  wholly 
separable  from  all  around  them — to  the  ambitious  who  use  it  as  a 
convenient  ladder — gay  London  life  is  (what  any  other  life  would 
be  with  the    same  additions)    charming.     But,  to    one   who    is 
not  young — for  whom  love  is  a  closed  book,  and  who  has  no 
ambition  in  progress — this  mere  society,  without  heart  or  joyous- 
ness,  is  a  desert  of  splendor.     I  walk  through  my  thronged  rooms, 
and  hear,  night  after  night,  the  same  ceremonious  nothings.     I 
drive  in  my  costly  equipage,  separated  by  its  very  costliness  from 
the  sympathy  of  the  human  beings  who  pass  me  by.     There  are 
those  who  call  themselves  my  intimate  friends  ;  but  their  friendship 
la-cks  homeliness  and  abandonment.     Fear  of  committal,  dread  of 
ridicule,  policy  to  please  or  repel,  are  like  chains  worn  unseen  on 
the  tongues  and  hearts  of  all  who  walk  the  world  at  that  level." 

Tremlet  listened  without  reply,  except  in  looks  expressive  of 
assent. 

"  It  has  probably  passed  through  your  mind,"  continued  the 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  287 


Countess,  "  that  I  might  have  found  a  seclusion,  as  complete  as 
this,  in  a  remote  part  of  England.  But  I  chose  Germany  for 
several  reasons.  I  was  partly  educated  here,  and  the  language 
and  habits  of  the  people  are  like  those  of  a  native  land  to  me. 
My  husband's  relatives,  on  one  side  of  the  descent,  are  German, 
and  a  presumed  visit  to  these  connections  furnishes  the  necessary 
excuse  for  absenting  myself  unattended.  But,  above  all,  the 
people  are  different — the  pervading  magnetism  of  the  common 
air  is  as  different  as  that  of  another  planet.  I  see  no  society,  it 
is  true.  My  musical  oratory  and  my  books  are  all  the  compa 
nionship  I  have,  within  doors.  But  I  go  into  the  public  gardens 
of  the  Rosenthal,  (as  in  Germany  a  lady  may,)  not  only  fearing 
no  intrusion,  but  receiving,  as  one  of  the  crowd,  my  share  of  its 
social  magnetism.  The  common  enjoyment  of  the  music  of  the 
band  brings  all  in  the  crowd  to  a  temporary  common  sympathy. 
Rid  thus  of  the  *  fine  lady'  separation  between  me  and  my  kind, 
which  I  feel  in  England  like  a  frozen  wall,  my  heart  expands — I 
cannot  express  to  you  how  genially  and  breathingly  !  And  now 
is  all  this  comprehensible  to  you  r"  asked  the  Countess,  crushing 
her  handkerchief,  with  both  hands  upon  her  eyes,  with  the  na 
tural  suddenness  of  an  impassioned  child. 

The  reply  was  one  that  gave  no  check  to  the  expansion  of 
heart  on  which  she  had  entered. 

"  This  is  singular  frankness  on  my  part,"  she  continued.  "  I 
presume  I  shall  not  discover  immediately  why  I  am  thus  un 
guardedly  confiding  in  one  whom  I  have  only  known  hitherto  as 
an  acquaintance.  It  is  an  instinctive  impulse,  however,  and  I 
trust  it.  I  was  hesitating  before  trying  to  express  another  charm 
of  this  seclusion  to  me — partly  because  I  feared  I  should  find 
some  difficulty  in  putting  my  meaning  into  language,  and  more, 


288  SECRETS  OE  PRIDE. 


perhaps,  because  it  will  be  the  disclosure  of  a  feeling  which  I 
have,  as  yet,  hardly  dared  to  summon  up  for  my  own  examina 
tion.     In   this  joyous  out-of-doors  society  of  Germany — in  the 
general  distribution  of  complaisance  and  regard,  the  interchange 
of  kindly  salutations  between  all  classes,  and  the  strong  expres 
sions  of  good  will  in  which  ordinary  politeness  is  usually  phrased 
— I  find,  somehow,  a  prolonging  of  the  life-time  of  the  affections 
— a  continuance  of  verdure,  as  it  were,  into  the  desert  of  the  age 
past  loving.     A  wise  woman  submits,  of  course,  with  well-bred 
outward  acquiescence,  when  the  world's  manner  informs  her  that 
the  love-summer  of  her  youth  is  over.     But  it  came  upon  me 
when  my  heart  was  in  the  most  prodigal  flowering  of  its  tender 
ness — when  my  capacity  to  give  love,  at  least,  was  growing,  it 
seemed   to  me,  hourly,  of  more  value  and  profoundness.     To 
abandon,  then,  all  hope  of  loving — and  with  this  unlavished  wealth 
too  in  the  heart — was  society's  bitter  exaction.     I  submitted.     I 
would  not  be  the  ridicule  of  the  world,  for  pretensions  to  attrac 
tiveness  I  had  outlived,  nor  would  I  be  a  mark  for  such  attentions 
as  are  always  ready  for  those  who  seem  approachable  through 
weakness.     I  was  a  widow,  wealthy,  and  without  children  ;  and. 
if  I  would  retain  the  pride  of  my  position,  and,  particularly,  if  I 
would  defy  the  malice  of  the  envious,  I  must  either  marry  a  man 
older  than  myself  or  show  the  seeming  of  a  heart  beyond  all  pos 
sible  susceptibility.     You  yourself  visited  me  in  this  latter  cha 
racter,  and  you  know  how  unshrinkingly,  when  in  England,  1 
revolve  and  shine  in  my  icy  orbit !     Oh,  I  have  a  thousand  times 
envied  the  beggar  at  my  door  !     But  this  life  must  be  lived  on 
Walls  within  walls — circumstances  and  feelings  I  cannot  now  ex 
plain  to  you — hedge  in  the  necessity  of  my  continuing  the  main 
tenance  of  this  conspicuous  station  in  England.     Respite,  how- 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  289 


ever — breathing  time — is  indispensable  !  To  escape  from  those 
who  so  relentlessly  measured  my  period  of  loveableness — to  step 
out  from  my  fixed  place  among  those  of  mature  years,  though 
without  a  thought  of  resuming  youth — to  descend  from  the  cold 
height  of  exclusiveness,  and  claim,  once  a  year,  my  common  share 
of  common  life  and  sympathy — for  these  privileges,  and  to  relax 
tongue  and  heart  in  weeks  of  luxurious  silence  and  self-abandon 
ment — I  contrived  the  retreat  you  have  stumbled  upon." 

"  Did  you  think,"  asked  the  Countess,  touching  the  spring  of 
the  enchanted  closet,  and  with  a  gesture  compelling  silence  for 
the  music,  by  way  obviating  reply — "  did  you  think  that  this 

formidable  mystery  had  so  little  in  it  that  was  mysterious  ?" 
*##### 

With  luxury,  music  and  complete  isolation  fom  the  world,  love 
ripens  apace.  It  was  one  morning,  but  a  fortnight  after  the 
chance  meeting  of  the  Countess  and  Tremlet,  described  in  the 
foregoing  pages,  that  the  artist  found  himself,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  wholly  unsusceptible  of  the  seductive  temptings  of  his 
pencil.  He  could  not  paint.  Something  more  critical  than  any 
ordinary  anxiety  outweighed  his  art.  There  sat  Jessonda,  the 
Tyrolese,  in  the  posture  in  which  she  was  daily  placed — (for  the 
character  her  portrait  was  to  represent) — the  half-finished  sketch 
on  his  easel  fairly  breathing  with  a  new  vision  of  beauty — but  he 
saw,  that  day,  neither  the  sketch  nor  Jessonda.  The  living  origi 
nal  might  well  have  inspired  him,  however,  for  love  more  intense 
than  was  expressed  in  her  face  and  posture,  never  offered  itself 
to  be  pictured.  So,  indeed,  the  artist  had  interpreted  it,  if  one 
might  believe  his  canvas — for  her  intense  gaze  of  adoration  was 
well  copied,  though  with  the  addition  of  a  lofty  refinement  of  in 
tellect  breathing  through  the  strangely  expressive  lineaments — 
13 


290  A    PAINTER'S    ERROR. 


hut  he  had  given  his  imagination  credit  for  the  love  as  well  as  the 
intellect  portrayed  "before  him. 

With  no  suspicion  of  what  so  distracted  his  attention  for  that 
day,  however,  J  essonda  was  troubled.  In  the  usually  absorbed  de 
votion  of  the  artist  to  her  portrait — in  the  flushed  cheek  and  ea 
ger  eye  with  which  he  gazed  on  the  face  she  saw  copied  from  her 
own — she  had  found  stuff  for  dreams  that  made  her  capable  of 
jealousy  when  that  picture  was  neglected.  She  had  half  risen 
to  leave  him,  when  a  servant  entered  with  a  letter.  The  door 
closed  upon  her  as  he  broke  the  seal,  and  Jessonda  and  his  picture 
were  at  once  forgotten  in  the  perusal — 

"  MY  DEAR  TREMLET, — In  the  two  days  that  I  have  exiled 
you  from  my  presence,  I  have  exiled  my  happiness  also — as  you 
well  know  without  my  confessing — but  I  needed  to  sleep  and  wake 
more  than  once  upon  your  welcome  but  unexpected  avowal.  I 
fear,  indeed,  that  I  need  much  more  time,  and  that  reflection 
would  scarce  justify  what  I  am  now  about  to  write  to  you.  But 
my  life,  hither  to,  has  be  en  such  a  succession  of  heart-chilled  wait 
ings  upon  Reason,  that,  for  once,  while  I  have  the  power,  I  am 
tempted  to  bound  away  with  Impulse,  after  happiness. 

"  Of  course  you  understand  in  this  an  acceptance  of  your  offer. 
But  I  have  conditions  to  impose.  It  is  possible  that  you  may 
withdraw  your  offer  when  you  know  them.  Yet  they  are  so 
much  of  a  character  with  our  acquaintance,  and  with  our  inter 
course,  for  the  month  into  which  we  have  crowded  an  age,  that 
I  have  strong  hopes  of  your  not  finding  them  distasteful.  Let  me 
preface  my  exactions  by  some  sort  of  apology,  however — showing 
you,  that  is  to  say,  the  ground  work  of  the  foible  (if  such  you 
think  it)  which  is  to  be  humored  by  your  acquiescence. 

"  I  have  partially  expressed  to  you,  in  conversation,  how  com- 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  39 j 


pletely  my  whole  life  has  been  a  sacrifice  of  natural  preferences 
to  worldly  expediency.  For  my  present  station,  such  as  it  is,  I 
have  given  gradually  the  entire  provision  made  by  nature  for  my 
happiness — my  girlish  joyfulness,  my  woman's  power  of  loving, 
my  hopes,  my  dreams,  my  sympathies,  my  parson.  I  was  forced 
to  sacrifice  an  early  affection,  to  marry  for  title  and  fortune.  I 
have  since  been  unceasingly  called  upon  to  choose  between  my 
heart's  wishes  and  freedom  from  humiliation.  You  will  say 
it  was  at  my  own  risk  if  I  preferred  the  latter — but  in  every  im 
portant  crisis  of  option,  the  threatened  evils  looked  appalling, 
and  the  happiness  comparatively  partial.  Meantime,  (I  am  quite 
ready  to  believe,)  my  pride  has  been  thus  fed  to  a  disease. 

"  Of  course  tlioi-e  is  something  wrung  from  the  world  by  these 
sacrifices.  To  most  victims,  the  wordly  advantages  are  a  suffi 
cient  consolation.  Bat  fortune  and  title  alone  would  not  have 
continued  to  tempt  me.  I  could  be  happy  without  homage, 
and  with  a  hundredth  part  of  the  luxury  I  can  command.  But 
there  is  another  privilege,  accompanying  high  station  coldly  main 
tained,  and  bought  by  me  with  these  same  bitter  sacrifices — a  dis 
dainful  independence  of  the  world  that  has  so  robbed  us  !  What 
will  you  say  if  I  tell  you  that  this  is  what  I  am  trying  to  preserve 
to  myself  as  a  twin  happiness  with  your  love,!  What  will  you 
think  of  me,  if  I  confess  to  you,  that  the  strongest  feeling  in  my 
bosom,  till  you  wakened  love  there,  was  resentment  against 
society  for  the  cruelties  it  has  sown  my  life  with  !  Individuals  of 
course  are  blameless  of  design  against  me,  but  the  cruelty  lies  in 
the  pervading  heartlessness  of  the  class.  In  their  mockery  of 
everything  but  that  which  dazzles  them — in  their  polished  re 
joicing  over  the  downfall  of  any  social  superiority — lies  the  inevita- 
bleness  of  the  submissions  I  resent.  Is  it  strange,  then,  that  I  wish  to 


292  STRANGE  LOVE  LETTER. 


preserve  an  ascendancy  over  it,  and  remain  above  its  sneer  or  it* 
pity  ?  With  the  glow  of  tenderness  now  in  my  heart,  I  cannot 
find  the  bitter  words  to  express  to  you  how  much  I  value  this 
undeniable  power  of  disdain — but  this  it  is  which  seems  to  me  the 
only  equivalent  I  have  wrung  from  the  world — this  it  is  which  I 
look  on  as  the  true  price  of  the  heart  sold,  pulse  by  pulse,  at  the  hate 
ful  bidding  of  the  opinions  of  the  class  I  live  in  !  And  (for  you  have 
already  seen  my  drift)  it  is  this  privilege  which  an  open  marriage' 
with  you  would  endanger.  You  are  ten  years  younger  than  I. 
Your  character  and  tastes  are  peculiar.  The  qualities  you  love 
in  me,  ripen  only  in  the  meridian  of  life.  We  shall  be  happy  in 
marriage,  I  have  reason  to  believe.  But  the  world  would  not  be 
lieve  it !  Oh  no  !  The  first  knowledge  of  the  step  would  be  re 
ceived  with  a  smile,  and,  with  that  smile,  lightly  as  it  would  pass 
around,  would  fall  from  me,  like  a  dream,  the  ascendancy  in  which 
lies  my  power. 

"  Of  course  you  anticipate  what  I  have  to  propose.  I  will  but- 
name  it  to  you  now,  and  explain  its  possibility  when  we  meet.  It 
is  to  marry  you  privately,  here  in  Germany.  After  a  week  more 
in  this  sweet  retirement,  (for  my  time  here  is  nearly  expired,)  I 
will  leave  you,  and  resume  my  apparently  heartless  life  in  Eng 
land.  You  shall  return  to  England  soon  yourself,  also  apparent 
ly  single,  and  we  will  be  known  to  the  world  but  as  we  were — the 
"  cold  Countess"  Isny-Frere,  and  Tremlet,  the  unimpressible 
artist.  The  secret  can  be  kept.  More  difficult  things  are  done 
by  the  simplest  people  around  us.  Part  of  the  year  we  will  pass 
in  this  retirement  or  another,  and,  with  means  so  ample  as  mine, 
and  a  character  so  little  open  to  suspicion  of  such  a  secret,  innu 
merable  varieties,  in  the  masquerading  part  of  our  life,  will  al 
ways  be  possible. 


THE  ICY  VEIL.  393 


"  Do  you  not  see,  my  gifted  and  beautiful  lover,  how  I  thus  add,  to 
the  wealth  of  your  affection,  the  jewel  for  which  I  sold  all  my 
happiness  till  I  met  you  ?  Do  not  feel  offended  that  in  your  love 
I  have  not  forgotten  it.  We  value  what  has  cost  us  our  heart's 
blood,  though  it  be  but  a  worthless  trifle  to  another.  Oh,  you 
must  let  me  preserve  my  icy  veil  between  me  and  the  world — 
preserve  it,  for  my  heart  to  beat  behind  it,  in  a  heaven  of  every 
day  affection.  I  plead  for  it  with  my  whole  soul — but — it  is  yours 
to  decide  !  I  began  my  letter  thinking  that  I  should  inflexibly 
exact  it.  I  could  not  hesitate,  however,  now,  in  a  choice  between 
it  and  you.  I  will  marry  you  openly  if  you  so  require. 

"  Come  to  me  at  sunset.  Having  once  broken  my  wish  to  you, 
I  can  venture  to  talk  of  it.  And  now — impatient  to  press  my 
lips  upon  your  beautiful  forehead — I  record  myself  your 

EDITH." 

Another  fortnight  had  elapsed.  The  golden  light  of  another 
autumnal  sunset  streamed  into  the  painting  room  of  Tremlet,  at 
Leipsic.  Around,  against  the  walls,  stood  unfinished  sketches, 
in  oil,  of  the  most  peculiar  faces  and  costumes  that  had  been  seen 
during  the  crowded  fair  just  over.  A  Jew  from  Poland,  with  his 
shaggy  fur  cap,  pelisse  and  shaggy  beard  ;  a  Greek  from  Con 
stantinople,  in  flowing  juktanilla  and  cap  of  scarlet ;  peasants  and 
peasant  girls,  with  the  sunny  hair  and  strange  dresses  of  moun 
tain  Germany ;  pedlars  from  the  Friuli,  and  Hungarians  swathed 
in  twine  and  tatters,  were  here  transferred  from  the  street  to  can 
vas — material  to  figure  hereafter  in  groups  of  historical  pictures. 
But,  among  these  rough  sketches  (that,  rude  as  they  were,  still 
showed  the  hand  of  the  master)  there  was  one  subject  finished 
with  careful  study — a  portrait  of  the  Tyrolean  glove-girl — true 
to  life,  yet  representing  a  quality  of  beauty  rare  as  the  second 


294  JESSONDA. 


rainbow  !  It  stood  now  upon  the  painter's  easel — a  figure  of 
matchless  nobleness  and  grace — and  the  colors  were  fresh  about 
the  lips,  where  he  had  retouched  them  within  the  parting  hour. 

The  original  of  this  a  treasure,  trove"  (for  such  was  the  face  of 
Jessonda  to  the  artist)  had  just  risen  from  the  kneeling  posture, 
in  which  she  had  bent  herself  to  his  elaborate  pencil  for  an  hour 
of  almost  every  day  sines  their  first  meeting  in  the  Rosenthal ; 
and  she  stood  looking  alternately  at  her  portrait  and  at  him,  with 
compressed  lips,  and  an  expression  far  beyond  a  gratified  curiosity. 

With  the  eye  of  genius  Tremlet  had  seen,  in  this  girl's  embryal 
beauty,  the  look  with  which  it  would  beam,  were  it  perfected  to  the 
utmost  capability  of  its  peculiar  type  ;  and  she  saw  now,  on  the 
easel,  a  beauty  that  could  only  be  hers  after  years  of  culture,  yet 
of  which  she  still  felt  as  conscious  as  of  the  swelling  heart  under 
her  boddice  of  green.  Her  emotions  had  grown  from  day  to  day 
more  tumultuous.  While  the  artist  looked  on  her  beauty  as  on 
the  fitting  but  cold  and  shuttered  tenement  of  an  unarrived  angel 
of  intellect,  she  looked  on  his  as  on  something  already  worthy  of 
the  idolatrous  worship  of  that  angel.  The  coupling  of  the  two 
before  her — herself,  as  made  beautiful  on  canvas,  and  the  artist, 
as  he  stood  breathingly  beautiful  in  the  glowing  light  of  the  sun 
set — was  an  appreciation  of  fitness  that  might  well  have  come  to 
a  brain  less  enamored.  Tremlet  was  as  perfect  in  form  and  fea 
ture  as  a  sculptor's  ideal  of  Antinous.  His  personal  advantages 
had  (contradictorily  enough)  increased  by  undervaluing ;  for,  of 
the  adulation  that  had  been  paid  him  in  his  first  manhood,  the 
greater  part,  of  course,  had  come  from  the  thoughtless  and  silly, 
and  he  had  flung  himself,  with  the  reaction  of  disgust,  upon  the 
cultivation  of  qualities  less  open  to  common  appreciation.  Ab 
sorbed  in  his  art,  he  had  half  lost  the  remembrance  of  his  beauty; 


THE  ICY  VEIL. 


295 


and  nature,  thus  left  to  herself  in  one  of  her  most  felicitous  com 
binations,  added  one  grace  more — that  of  a  noble  unconscious 
ness.  After  a  few  years  of  seclusion,  his  eminent  promise  in  the 
art  brought  him  back  by  a  new  gate  to  society,  and  it  was  as 
Tremlet  the  distinguished  artist,  that  he  had  been  a  formal  visitor 
at  the  house  of  the  Countess  Isny-Frere.  His  early  shrinking 
from  superficial  admiration,  however,  had  left  a  habit  in  his  man 
ners  that  acted  like  an  instinctive  avoidance  of  the  gay  and 
youthful,  and  he  passed  for  a  dreamy  man,  as  marble  cold  as  he 
was  splendidly  handsome.  The  Countess  had  exchanged  with  him 
the  politenesses  of  society  without  suspicion  of  his  true  nature.  In 
the  masked  procession  of  London  life,  spirits  the  most  congenial 
may  walk  side  by  side  for  years  without  recognition. 

Upon  Jessonda,  the  glove-girl,  Tremlet  had  made  an  indelible 
impression,  the  day  she  fitted  his  hand  from  her  glove-case  in  the 
garden  of  the  Rosenthal.  His  manner  to  her  was  soft  and  win 
ning,  without  the  forwardness  against  which  she  was  habitually 
armed;  and,  possessed  herself  of  mental  superiority  in  the  rough, 
she  had  recognized  his  nobleness  without  being  able  to  define  it. 
Vivid  as  was  her  admiration,  however,  she  would  probably  have 
parted  from  him  without  the  aspiring  venture  of  loving  him,  if 
she  had  not  seen  disclosed,  in  the  daily  progress  of  her  picture, 
an  angel's  ladder  by  which  the  heaven  of  an  equality  with  him 
might  be  reached.  She  felt,  within  her,  a  vague  consciousness  of 
the  character  he  had  drawn  in  the  elevated  beauty  of  her 
portrait.  She  was  capable,  she  thought,  to  become  like  to 
this  heightened  semblance  of  herself.  It  explained  her  waking 
dreams.  Her  heart  declared  itself  interpreted  in  the  picture's 
expression.  But  prophetic  flattery,  more  bewildering  was  never 
addressed  to  mortal— and  it.  was  little  wonder  tliRt  the  heart  of 


296  PROPHETIC   PARTING. 

Jessonda  sprang  to  its  interpreter.  As  she  looked  now  upon  the 
pictured  foreshadowing  of  what  she  might  be,  and  from  that  to  the 
noble  form  that  stood  beside  it,  she  saw,  with  a  glowing  soul,  that 
were  it  the  picture  of  his  wife,  it  would  be  a  picture  of  his  mate 
by  nature.  The  chasm  between  her  present  self  and  her  arrival 
at  the  lofty  reach  of  this  pictured  equality,  she  shrank  from 
measuring.  Hope  threw  before  it  its  glittering  veil.  Ah,  poor 
Jessonda ! 

She  took  up  from  the  floor  her  tall  hat  with  its  gold  tassel. 
The  band  of  Tyrolese  merchants  were  already  on  their  way  south 
ward,  and  she  was  waited  for  by  her  kinsmen  at  the  gate  of 
Leipsic. 

"  When  shall  we  meet  again  r"  asked  Tremlet,  taking  her  two 
hands  kindly  for  a  farewell. 

She  raised  his  hands  hurriedly  to  her  lips,  choked  back  her 
emotion  with  a  strong  effort,  and  pointed  to  the  picture. 

"  Remember  me  by  that,"  she  said,  "  not  by  what  I  am ! 
When  you  see  me  again  I  shall  be  like  it !" 

Another  instant  and  she  was  gone. 

Her  voice  lingered  on  the  painter's  ear,  and,  after  a  few  min 
utes  of  musing,  he  started  to  recall  her,  for  her  words  suddenly 
assumed  a  new  meaning  to  him  ;  but  another  thought  checked 
him,  and  he  returned  to  his  studio,  oppressed  with  an  em 
barrassing  sadness.  He  lighted  his  lamp  and  sat  down  to  write 
to  his  bride,  who,  a  few  days  before,  had  preceded  him  on  her 

way  to  England. 

.  #  *  *  *  *  * 

It  was  five  years  after  the  acting  of  this  chance  romance  at 
Leipsic,  when  Europe  became  filled  with  the  murmur  of  a 
new  renown  ;  and,  from  her  dehut  at  Vienna,  the  great  songstress, 


THE  ICY    VEIL.  297 


,  made  Jier  way  through  adoring  capitals  toward  London. 

Report  spoke  in  wonder  of  the  intellect  that  beamed  through  her 
expressive  beauty,  but  with  still  more  emphatic  wonder  at  such 
passionate  fervor  in  the  acting  of  one  whose  heart  seemed  invul 
nerable  to  love  ;  and  while  articles  of  agreement  were  concluding 
at  Brussels  for  her  appearance  at  the  Queen's  Opera,  the  exclu- 
sives  of  London  were  delighted  to  know  that  they  should  first 
have  a  privileged  sight  of  the  unsusceptible  enchantress,  for  the 
"  cold  Countess"  had  sent  over  a  messenger  to  engage  her  for  a 
private  concert. 

A  few  days  wore  on,  and  her  arrival  in  England  was  announced  ; 
and,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  she  was  to  sing  at  the 
concert  of  the  Countess  Isny-Frere,  Tremlet  the  artist  received, 
at  his  studio,  the  following  brief  letter : 

"  I  promised  to  return  to  you  when  I  should  resemble  my  pic 
ture.  It  is  possible  that  exile  from  your  presence  has  marred 
more  beauty  than  mental  culture  has  developed — but  the  soul 

you  drew  in  portrait  has,  at  least  found  its  way  to  my  features 

for  the  world  acknowledges  what  you  alone  read  prophetically  at 
Leipsic.  I  have  kept  myself  advised  of  your  movements,  with  a 
woman's  anxiety.  You  are  still  toiling  at  the  art  which  made  us 
acquainted,  and,  (thank  God!)  unmarried.  To-night,  at  the 
concert  of  the  Countess  Isny-Frere,  I  shall  sing  to  you,  for  I 
have  taken  pains  to  know  that  you  will  be  there.  Do  not  speak 
to  me  till  you  can  see  me  alone — but  hear  me  in  my  art  before 
I  abandon  myself  to  the  joy  long  deferred,  of  throwing  myself 
at  your  feet  with  the  fortune  and  fame  it  is  now  mine  to  offer 
you. 

"  Only  yours,  JESSOND A  . " 


298  REVELATION. 


But  Jessonda  did  not  sing  for  the  Countess  that  night.  The 
guests  were  assembled,  and  the  leading  performers  of  the  opera 
were  there,  to  accompany  the  new  prima  donna,  when  a  note 
arrived,  written  apparently  by  her  dame  de  compagnie,  and  announc 
ing  her  sudden  and  unaccountable  illness.  As  she  had  bean  seen 
driving  in  the  Park  that  afternoon,  apparently  in  perfect  health, 
it  was  put  down  as  one  of  the  inexplicable  caprices  common  to 
those  intoxicated  with  sudden  fame,  and  paragraphed  upon,  ac 
cordingly,  in  the  morning  papers.  The  disappointment  to  the 
Countess  was  less  than  to  hor  guests — for  she  had  lived,  now 
five  years,  in  a  world  of  happiness  little  suspected  by  the  gay 
world  about  her — but,  slight  as  it  was,  she  chanced  long  to  re 
member  it  by  a  coincidence.  In  her  private  journal,  under  the 
same  date  with  the  record  of  so  comparative  a  trifle  as  a  public 
singer's  failure  to  appear  at  her  conojrt,  was  recorded,  with  a 
trembling  hand,  the  first  cloud  upon  hor  life  of  secret  happin3?s 
— her  husband,  Tremlet,  having  come  to  her,  after  the  departure 
of  her  guests  that  night,  with  a  gloom  upon  his  spirits,  over 
which  her  caresses,  for  the  first  time,  had  no  power  ! 


BOM  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS, 


THE  guests  at  the  Aster  House  were  looking  mournfully  out  of 
the  drawing-room  windows,  on  a  certain  rainy  day  of  an  October 
passed  over  to  history.  No  shopping — no  visiting  !  The  morn 
ing  must  be  passed  in-doors.  And  it  was  some  consolation,  to 
those  who  were  in  town  for  a  few  days  to  see  the  world,  that 
their  time  was  not  quite  lost,  for  the  assemblage  in  the  large 
drawing-room  was  numerous  and  gay.  A  very  dressy  affair  is  the 
drawing-room  of  the  Astor,  and  as  full  of  eyes  as  a  peacock's  tail 
— (which,  by  the  way,  is  also  a  very  dressy  affair).  Strangers 
who  wish  to  see  and  be  seen  (and  especially  "  be  seen")  on  rainy 
days,  as  well  as  on  sunny  days,  in  their  visits  to  New  York, 
should,  as  the  phrase  goes,  "  patronize"  the  Astor.  As  if  there 
was  any  patronage  in  getting  the  worth  of  your  money  ! 

Well — the  people  in  the  drawing-room  looked  a  little  out  of 
the  windows,  and  a  great  deal  at  each  other.  Unfortunately,  it  is 
only  among  angels  and  underbred  persons  that  introductions  can 
be  dispensed  with,  and,  as  the  guests  of  that  day  at  the  Astor 
House  were  mostly  strangers  to  each  other,  conversation  was  very 
fitful  and  guarded,  and  any  movement  whatever  extremely  con 
spicuous.  There  were  four  very  silent  ladies  on  the  sofa,  two 


300  THE  ASTOR   HOUSE. 


very  silent  ladies  hi  each  of  the  windows,  silent  ladies  on  the 
ottomans,  silent  ladies  in  the  chairs  at  the  corners,  and  one  silent 
lady,  very  highly  dressed,  sitting  on  the  music-stool,  with  her 
back  to  the  piano.  There  was  here  and  there  a  gentleman  in  the 
room,  weather-bound  and  silent ;  but  we  have  only  to  do  with  one 
of  these,  and  with  the  last-mentioned  much-embellished  young 
lady. 

"  Well,  I  can't  sit  on  this  soft  chair  all  day,  cousin  Meg  !"  said 
the  gentleman. 

"  'Sh  ! — call  me  Margaret,  if  you  must  speak  so  loud,"  said  the 
lady.  "  And  what  would  you  do  out  of  doors  this  rainy  day  ? 
I'm  sure  it's  very  pleasant  here." 

"  Not  for  me.  I'd  rather  be  thrashing  in  the  barn.  But  there 
must  be  some  '  rainy-weather  work'  in  the  city  as  well  as  the 
country.  There's  some  fun,  /  know,  that's  kept  for  a  wet  day, 
as  we  keep  corn-shelling  and  grinding  the  tools." 

"  Dear  me !" 

«  Well— what  now?" 

"  Oh,  nothing ! — but  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  bring  the  stable 
with  you  to  the  Astor  House." 

The  gentleman  slightly  elevated  his  eyebrows,  and  took  a  leaf 
of  music  from  the  piano,  and  commenced  diligently  reading  the 
mystic  dots  and  lines.  We  have  ten  minutes  to  spare  before  the 
entrance  of  another  person  upon  the  scene,  and  we  will  make  use 
of  the  silence  to  conjure  up  for  you,  in  our  magic  mirror,  the 
semblance  of  the  two  whose  familiar  dialogue  we  have  just  jotted 
down. 

Miss  Margaret  Pifflit  was  a  young  lady  who  had  a  large  share 
of  what  the  French  call  la  beaute  du  dialle — youth  and  freshness. 
(Though,  why  the  devil  should  have  the  credit  of  what  never 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  3Q1 


belonged  to  him,  it  takes  a  Frenchman,  perhaps,  to  explain.)  To 
look  at,  she  was  certainly  a  human  being  in  very  high  perfection. 
Her  cheeks  were  like  two  sound  apples  ;  her  waist  was  as  round 
as  a  stove-pipe  ;  her  shoulders  had  two  dimples  just  at  the  back, 
that  looked  as  if  they  defied  punching  to  make  them  any  deeper ; 
her  eyes  looked  as  if  they  were  just  made,  they  were  so  bright  and 
new ;  her  voice  sounded  like  "  C  sharp"  in  a  new  piano  ;  and  her 
teeth  were  like  a  fresh  break  in  a  cocoa-nut.  She  was  inexorably, 
unabatedly,  desperately  healthy.  This  fact,  and  the  difficulty  of 
uniting  all  the  fashions  of  all  the  magazines  in  one  dress,  were  her 
two  principal  afflictions  in  this  world  of  care.  She  had  an  ideal 
model,  to  which  she  aspired  with  constant  longings — a  model  re 
sembling  in  figure  the  high-born  creatures  whose  never-varied 
face  is  seen  in  all  the  plates  of  fashion,  yet,  if  possible,  paler  and 
more  disdainful.  If  Miss  Pifflit  could  have  bent  her  short  wrist 
with  the  curve  invariably  given  to  the  well-gloved  extremities  of 
that  mysterious  and  nameless  beauty ;  if  she  could  but  have  sat 
with  her  back  to  her  friends,  and  thrown  her  head  languishingly 
over  her  shoulder  without  dislocating  her  neck  ;  if  she  could  but 
have  protruded  from  the  flounce  of  her  dress  a  foot  more  like  a 
mincing  little  muscle-shell,  and  less  like  a  jolly  fat  clam  ;  in  brief, 
if  she  could  have  drawn  out  her  figure  like  the  enviable  joints  of 
a  spy-glass,  whittled  off  more  taperly  her  four  extremities,  sold 
all  lier  uproarious  and  indomitable  roses  for  a  pot  of  carmine,  and 
compelled  the  publishers  of  the  magazines  to  refrain  from  the 
distracting  multiplicity  of  their  monthly  fashions — with  these 
little  changes  in  her  allotment — Miss  Pifllit  would  have  realised  all 
her  maiden  aspirations  up  to  the  present  hour. 

A  glimpse  will  give  you  an  idea  of  the  gentleman  in  question. 
He  was   not  much  more  than   he   looked   to   be — a   compact, 


302  ENGAGEMENT  TO  MARRY. 


athletic  young  man  of  twenty-one,  with  clear,  honest,  blue  eyes, 
brown  face,  (where  it  was  not  shaded  by  the  rim  of  his  hat,) 
curling  brown  hair,  and  an  expression  of  fearless  qualities, 
dashed  just  now  by  a  tinge  of  rustic  bashfulness.  His  dress  was 
a  little  more  expensive  and  gayer  than  was  necessary,  and  he 
wore  his  clothes  in  a  way  which  betrayed  that  he  would  be  more 
at  home  in  shirt-sleeves.  His  hands  were  rough,  and  his  attitude 
that  of  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  fling  himself  down  on  the 
nearest  bench,  or  swing  his  legs  from  the  top  rail  of  a  fence,  or 
the  box  of  a  wagon.  We  speak  with  caution  of  his  rusticity  ? 
however,  for  he  had  a  printed  card,  "  Mr.  Ephraim  Bracely," 
and  he  was  a  subscriber  to  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Times."  We  shall 
find  time  to  say  a  thing  or  two  about  him  as  we  get  on. 

"  Eph."  Bracely  and  "  Meg"  Pifflit  were  "  engaged."  With 
the  young  lady  it  was,  as  the  French  say,  fau-te  dt  micuz,  for  her 
beau-ideal  (or,  in  plain  English,  her  ideal-beau)  was  a  tall,  pale 
young  gentleman,  with  white  gloves,  in  a  rapid  consumption. 
She  and  Eph.  were  second  cousins,  however,  and  as  she  was  an 
orphan,  and  had  lived  since  childhood  with  his  father,  and,  more 
over,  had  inherited  the  Pifflit  farm,  which  adjoined  that  of  the 
Bracelys,  and,  moreover,  had  been  told  to  "  kiss  her  little  hus 
band,  and  love  him  always"  by  the  dying  breath  of  her  mother, 
and  (moreover  third)  had  been  "let  be"  his  sweetheart  by  the 
unanimous  consent  of  the  neighborhood,  why,  it  seemed  one  of 
those  matches  made  in  Heaven,  and  not  intended  to  be  travestied 
on  earth.  It  was  understood  that  they  were  to  be  married  as 
soon  as  the  young  man's  savings  should  enable  him  to  pull  down 
the  old  Pifflit  house  and  build  a  cottage,  and,  with  a  fair  season, 
that  might  be  done  in  another  year.  Meantime,  Eph.  was  a  loyal 
keeper  of  his  troth,  though  never  having  had  the  trouble  to  win  the 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  303 

young  lady,  ho  was  not  fully  aware  of  the  necessity  of  courtship, 
whether  or  no  ;  and  was,  besides,  somewhat  unsusceptible  of  the 
charms  of  moonlight,  after  a  hard  day's  work  at  haying  or  har 
vesting.  The  neighbors  thought  it  proof  enough  of  his  love  that 
he  never  "  went  sparking"  elsewhere,  and,  as  he  would  rather 
talk  of  his  gun  or  his  fishing-rod,  his  horse  or  his  crop,  pigs, 
politics,  or  anything  else,  than  of  love  or  matrimony,  his  com 
panions  took  his  engagement  with  his  cousin  to  be  a  subject  upon 
which  he  felt  too  deeply  to  banter,  and  they  neither  invaded  his 
domain  by  attentions  to  his  sweetheart,  nor  suggested  thought  by 
allusions  to  her.  It  was  in  the  progress  of  this  even  tenor  of 
engagement,  that  some  law  business  had  called  old  Farmer 
Bracely  to  New  York,  and  the  young  couple  had  managed  to 
accompany  him.  And,  of  course,  nothing  would  do  for  Miss 
Pifflit  but  "  the  Astor." 

And  now,  perhaps,  the  reader  is  ready  to  be  told  whose  car 
riage  is  at  the  Vesey  street  door,  and  who  sends  up  a  dripping 
servant  to  inquire  for  Miss  Pifflit. 

It  is  allotted  to  the  destiny  of  every  country-girl  to  have  one 
fashionable  female  friend  in  the  city — somebody  to  correspond 
with,  somebody  to  quote,  somebody  to  write  her  the  particulars  of 
the  last  elopement,  somebody  to  send  her  patterns  of  collars,  and 
the  rise  and  fall  of  tournures,  and  such  other  things  as  are  not 
entered  into  by  the  monthly  magazines.  How  these  apparently 
unlikely  acquaintances  are  formed,  is  as  much  a  mystery  as  the 
eternal  youth  of  post-boys,  and  the  eternal  duration  of  donkeys. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  pry  irreverently  into  those  pokerish  corners 
of  the  machinery  of  the  world.  I  go  no  farther  than  the  fact,  that 
Miss  Julia  Hampson  was  an  acquaintance  of  Miss  Pifflit's. 

Everybody  knows  "  Hampson  and  Co." 


304  GOOD  WILL  OF  MILLINERS. 


Miss  Hampson  was  a  good  deal  what  the  Fates  had  tried  to 
make  her.  If  she  had  not  been  admirably  well  dressed,  it  would 
have  been  by  violent  opposition  to  the  united  zeal  and  talent  of 
dressmakers  and  milliners.  These  important  vicegerents  of  the 
Hand  that  reserves  to  itself  the  dressing  of  the  butterfly  and  lily, 
make  distinctions  in  the  exercise  of  their  vocation.  Wo  be  to  an 
unloveable  woman,  if  she  be  not  endowed  with  taste  supreme. 
She  may  buy  all  the  stuffs  of  France,  and  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  but  she  will  never  get,  from  those  keen  judges  of  fitness, 
the  loving  hint,  the  admiring  and  selective  persuasion,  with  which 
they  delight  to  influence  the  embellishment  of  sweetness  and  love 
liness.  They  who  talk  of  "  anything's  looking  well  on  a  pretty 
woman,"  have  not  reflected  on  the  Lesser  Providence  of  dress 
makers  and  milliners.  Woman  is  never  mercenary  but  in  mon 
strous  exceptions,  and  no  tradeswoman  of  the  fashions  will  sell 
taste  or  counsel ;  and,  in  the  superior  style  of  all  charming  women, 
you  see,  not  the  influence  of  manners  upon  dress,  but  the  affec 
tionate  tribute  of  these  dispensers  of  elegance  to  the  qualities  they 
admire.  Let  him  who  doubts,  go  shopping  with  his  dressy  old 
aunt  to-day,  and  to-morrow  with  his  dear  little  cousin. 

Miss  Hampson,  to  whom  the  supplies  of  elegance  came  as 
naturally  as  bread  and  butter,  and  occasioned  as  little  speculation 
as  to  the  whence  or  how,  was  as  unconsciously  elegant,  of  course, 
as  a  well-dressed  lily.  She  was  abstractly  a  very  beautiful  girl, 
though  in  a  very  delicate  and  unconspicuous  style  ;  and  by  dint  of 
absolute  fitness  in  dressing,  the  merit  of  her  beauty,  by  common 
observers  at  least,  would  be  half  given  to  her  fashionable  air  and 
unexceptionable  toilet.  The  damsel  and  her  choice  array, 
indeed,  seemed  the  harmonious  work  of  the  same  maker.  How 
much  was  Nature's  gift,  and  how  much  was  bought  in  Broadway, 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  305 


was  probably  never  duly  understood  by  even  her  most  discriminate 
admirer. 

But  we  have  kept  Miss  Hampson  too  long  upon  the  stairs 

The  two  young  ladies  met  with  a  kiss,  in  which  (to  the  surprise 
of  those  who  had  previously  observed  Miss  Pifflit)  there  was  no 
smack  of  the  latest  fashion 

"  My  dear  Julia!" 

"  My  dear  Marge rine  !"  (This  was  a  romantic  variation  of 
Meg's,  which  she  had  forced  upon  her  intimate  friends  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet.) 

Eph.  twitched,  remindingly,  the  jupon  of  his  cousin,  and  she 
introduced  him  with  the  formula  which  she  had  found  in  one  of 
Miss  Austin's  novels. 

"  Oh,  but  there  was  a  mock  respectfulness  in  that  deep 
courtesy,"  thought  Eph.  (and  so  there  was — for  Miss  Hampson 
took  an  irresistible  cue  from  the  inflated  ceremoniousness  of  the 
introduction). 

Eph.  made  a  bow  as  cold  and  stiff  as  a  frozen  horse-blanket. 
And  if  he  could  have  commanded  the  blood  in  his  face,  it  would 
have  been  as  dignified  and  resentful  as  the  eloquence  of  Red 
Jacket— but  that  rustic  blush,  up  to  his  hair,  was  like  a  mask 
dropped  over  his  features. 

"  A  bashful  country-boy,"  thought  Miss  Hampson,  as  she 
looked  compassionately  upon  his  red-hot  forehead,  and  forthwith 
dismissed  him  entirely  from  her  thoughts. 

With  a  consciousness  that  he  had  better  leave  the  room,  and 
walk  off  his  mortification  under  an  umbrella,  Eph.  took  his  seat, 
and  silently  listened  to  the  conversation  of  the  young  ladies. 
Miss  Hampson  had  come  to  pass  the  morning  with  her  friend, 
and  she  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  showered  down  upon  her  dazzling 


306  LOVE  BEGUN. 

neck  a  profusion  of  the  most  adorable  brown  ringlets.  Spite  of 
his  angry  humiliation,  the  young  farmer  felt  a  thrill  run  through 
his  veins  as  the  heavy  curls  fell  indolently  about  her  shoulders. 
He  had  never  before  looked  upon  a  woman  with  emotion.  He 
hated  her — oh,  yes !  for  she  had  given  him  a  look  that  could 
never  be  forgiven — but  for  somebody,  she  must  be  the  angel  of  the 
world.  Eph.  would  have  given  all  his  sheep  and  horses,  cows, 
crops,  and  hay-stacks,  to  have  seen  the  man  she  would  fancy  to  be 
her  equal.  He  could  not  give  even  a  guess  at  the  height  of  that 
conscious  superiority  from  which  she  individually  looked  down 
upon  him  ;  but  it  would  have  satisfied  a  thirst  which  almost  made 
him  scream,  to  measure  himself  by  a  man  with  whom  she  could  be 
familiar.  Where  was  his  inferiority  ?  What  was  it  ?  Why  had 
he  been  blind  to  it  till  now  ?  Was  there  no  surgeon's  knife,  no 
caustic,  that  could  carve  out,  or  cut  away,  burn  or  scarify,  the 
vulgarities  she  looked  upon  so  contemptuously  ?  But  the  devil 
take  her  superciliousness,  nevertheless  ! 

It  was  a  bitter  morning  to  Eph.  Bracely,  but  still  it  went  like 
a  dream.  The  hotel  parlor  was  no  longer  a  stupid  place.  His 
cousin  Meg  had  gained  a  consequence  in  his  eyes,  for  she  was  tho 
object  of  caress  from  this  superior  creature — she  was  the  link 
which  kept  her  within  his  observation.  He  was  too  full  of  other 
feelings  just  now  to  do  more  than  acknowledge  the  superiority  of 
this  girl  to  his  cousin.  He  felt  it  in  his  after  thoughts,  and  his 
destiny  then,  for  the  first  time,  seemed  crossed  and  inadequate  to 
his  wishes. 

*********** 

(We  hereby  draw  upon  your  imagination  for  six  months,  cour 
teous  reader.  Please  allow  the  "  teller"  to  show  you  into  the 
middle  of  the  following  July.) 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  397 

Bracely  farm,  ten  o'clock  of  a  glorious  summer  morning — Miss 
Pifflit  extended  upon  a  sofa  in  despair.  But  let  us  go  back  a 
little. 

A  week  before,  a  letter  had  been  received  from  Miss  Hampson, 
who,  to  the  delight  and  surprise  of  her  friend  Margerine,  had 
taken  the  whim  to  pass  a  month  with  her.  She  was  at  Rockaway, 
and  was  sick  and  tired  of  waltzing  and  the  sea.  Had  Farmer 
Bracely  a  spare  corner  for  a  poor  girl  ? 

But  Miss  Pifflit's  "  sober  second  thought"  was  utter  conster 
nation.  How  to  lodge  fitly  the  elegant  Julia  Hampson  ?  No 
French  bed  in  the  house,  no  boudoir,  no  ottomans,  no  pastilles, 
no  baths,  no  Psyche  to  dress  by  !  What  vulgar  wretches  they 
would  seem  to  her  !  What  insupportable  horror  she  would  feel  at 
the  dreadful  inelegance  of  the  farm  !  Meg  was  pale  with  terror 
and  dismay  as  she  went  into  the  details  of  anticipation. 

Something  must  be  done,  however.  A  sleepless  ni^ht  of  re 
flection  and  contrivance  sufficed  to  give  some  shape  to  the  capa 
bilities  of  the  case,  and,  by  daylight  the  next  morning,  the  whole 
house  was  in  commotion.  Meg  had,  fortunately,  a  large  bump 
of  constructiveness,  very  much  enlarged  by  her  habitual  dilem 
mas  of  toilette.  A  boudoir  must  be  constructed.  Farmer  Bracely 
slept  in  the  dried-apple  room,  on  the  lower  floor,  and  he  was  no 
sooner  out  of  his  bed,  than  his  bag  and  baggage  were  tumbled  up 
stairs,  his  gun  and  Sunday  whip  were  taken  down  from  their 
nails,  and  the  floor  scoured,  and  the  ceiling  white-washed.  Eph. 
was,  by  this  time,  returned  from  the  village  with  all  the  chintz 
that  could  be  bought,  and  a  paper  of  tacks,  and  some  new  straw 
carpeting  ;  and,  by  ten  o'clock  that  night,  the  four  walls  of  the 
apartment  were  covered  with  the  gayly-flowered  material,  the  car 
pet  was  nailed  down,  and  old  Farmer  Bracely  thought  it  a 


308  EXTEMPORE  BOUDOIR. 


mighty  nice,  cool-looking  place.  Eph.  was  a  bit  of  a  carpenter, 
and  he  soon  knocked  together  some  boxes,  which,  when  covered 
with  chintz,  and  stuffed  with  wool,  looked  very  like  ottomans  ; 
and,  with  a  handsome  cloth  on  the  round  table,  geraniums  in  the 
windows,  and  a  chintz  curtain  to  subdue  the  light,  it  was  not 
far  from  a  very  charming  boudoir,  and  Meg  began  to  breathe 
more  freely. 

But  Eph.  had  heard  this  news  with  the  blood  hot  in  his  tem 
ples.  Was  that  proud  woman  coming  again  to  look  at  him  with 
contempt,  and  here,  too,  where  the  rusticity,  which  he  presumed 
to  be  the  object  of  her  scorn,  would  be  a  thousand  times  more 
flagrant  and  visible  ?  And  yet,  with  the  entreaty  on  his  lip,  that 
his  cousin  would  refuse  to  receive  her,  his  heart  had  checked  the 
utterance — for  an  irresistible  desire  sprung  suddenly  within  him 
to  see  her,  even  at  the  bitter  cost  of  tenfold  his  former  mortifica 
tion. 

Yet,  as  the  preparations  for  receiving  Miss  Hampson  went  on, 
other  thoughts  took  possession  of  his  mind.  Eph.  was  not  a  man, 
indeed,  to  come  off  second  best,  in  the  long  pull  of  wrestling  with 
a  weakness.  His  pride  began  to  show  its  colors.  He  remembered 
his  independence  as  a  farmer,  dependent  on  no  man  ;  and  a  little 
comparison  between  his  pursuits,  and  life,  such  as  he  knew  it  to 
be,  in  a  city,  soon  put  him,  in  his  own  consciousness,  at  least,  on 
a  par  with  Miss  Hampson's  connexions.  This  point  once  attain 
ed,  Eph.  cleared  his  brow,  and  went  whistling  about  the  farm  as 
usual — receiving  without  reply,  however,  a  suggestion  of  his  cou 
sin  Meg's,  that  he  had  better  burn  his  old  straw  hat,  for,  in  a  fit 
of  absence,  he  might  possibly  put  it  on  while  Miss  Hampson  was 
there. 

Well,  it  was  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  Miss  Hampson's 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  309 

arrival  at  Bracely  Farm,  and,  as  we  said  before,  Miss  Pifflit  was 
in  despair.  Presuming  that  her  friend  would  be  fatigued  with 
her  journey,  she  had  determined  not  to  wake  her,  but  to  order 
breakfast  in  the  boudoir  at  eleven.  Farmer  Bracely  and  Eph. 
must  have  their  breakfast  at  seven,  however,  and  what  was  the 
dismay  of  Meg,  who  was  pouring  out  their  coffee  as  usual,  to  see 
the  elegant  Julia  rush  into  the  first  kitchen,  courtesy  very  sweetly 
to  the  old  man,  pull  up  a  chair  to  the  table,  apologise  for  being 
late,  and  end  this  extraordinary  scene  by  producing  two  newly- 
hatched  chickens  from  her  bosom  !  She  had  been  up  since  sun 
rise,  and  out  at  the  barn,  down  by  the  river,  and  up  in  the  hay 
mow,  and  was  perfectly  enchanted  with  everything,  especially  the 
dear  little  pigs  and  chickens  ! 

"  A  very  sweet  young  lady  !"  thought  old  Farmer  Bracely. 

"  Very  well — but  hang  your  condescension  !"  thought  Eph., 
distrustfully. 

"  Mercy  on  me  !— to  like  pigs  and  chickens  !"  mentally  ejacu 
lated  the  disturbed  and  bewildered  Miss  Pifflit. 

But  with  her  two  chicks  pressed  to  her  breast  with  one  hand, 
Miss  Hampson  managed  her  coffee  and  bread  and  butter  with  the 
other,  and  chattered  away  like  a  child  let  out  of  school.  The 
air  was  so  delicious,  and  the  hay  smelt  so  sweet,  and  the  trees  in 
the  meadow  were  so  beautiful,  and  there  were  no  stiff  sidewalks, 
and  no  brick  houses,  and  no  iron  railings,  and  so  many  dear 
speckled  hens,  and  funny  little  chickens,  and  kind-looking  old 
cows,  and  colts,  and  calves,  and  ducks,  and  turkeys — it  was  deli 
cious — it  was  enchanting — it  was  worth  a  thousand  Saratogas  and 
Rockaways.  How  anybody  could  prefer  the  city  to  the  country, 
was,  to  Miss  Hampson,  matter  of  incredulous  wonder. 


310 


BELLE  A-HAYING. 


"  Will  you  come  into  the  boudoir  ?"  asked  Miss  Pifflit  with 
languishing  air,  as  her  friend  Julia  rose  from  breakfast. 

"  Boudoir  !"  exclaimed  the  city  damsel,  to  the  infinite  deligl 
of  old  Bracely,  "  no,  dear  !  I'd  rather  go  out  to  the  barn  !     An 
you  going  anywhere  with  the  oxen  to-day,  sir  ?"  she  added,  goinf 
up  to  the  grey-headed  farmer,  caressingly,  "  I  should  so  like 
ride  in  that  great  cart  !" 

Eph.  was  a  little  suspicious  of  all  this  unexpected  agreeable- 
ness,  but  he  was  naturally  too  courteous  not  to  give   way  to 
lady's  whims.     He  put  on  his  old  straw  hat,  and  tied  his  hand 
kerchief  over  his  shoulder,  (not  to  imitate  the  broad  riband  of 
royal  order,  but  to  wipe  the  sweat  off  handily  while  mowing,)  anc 
offering  Miss  Hampson  a  rake  which  stood  outside  the  door,  h( 
begged  her  to  be  ready  when  he  came  by  with  the  team.     He  am 
his  father  were  bound  to  the  far  meadow,  where  they  were  cutth 
hay,  and  would  like  her  assistance  in  raking. 

It  was  a  "  specimen"  morning,  as  the  magazines  say,  for  th( 
air  was  temperate,  and  the  whole  country  was  laden  with  th( 
smell  of  the  new  hay,   which   somehow  or  other,  as  everybody 
knows,  never  hinders  or  overpowers  the  perfume  of  the  flowei 
Oh,  that  winding  green  lane  between  the  bushes  was  like  an  av< 
nue  to  paradise.     The  old  cart  jolted  along  through  the  ruts,  am 
Miss   Hampson,  standing   up,  and    holding    on   to   old    Farm* 
Bracely,  watched  the  great  oxen  crowding  their  sides  togethe 
and  looked  off  over  the  fields,  and  exclaimed,  as  she  saw  glimps 
of  the  river  between  the  trees,  and  seemed  veritably  and  unaf 
fectedly  enchanted.     The  old  farmer,  at  least,  had  no  doubt 
her  sincerity,  and  he  watched  her,  and  listened  to  her,  with 
broad,  honest  smile  of  admiration  on  his  weather-browned  COT 
tenance. 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  311 


The  oxen  were  turned  up  to  the  fence,  while  the  dew  dried  off 
the  hay,  and  Eph.  and  his  father  turned  to  mowing,  leaving  Miss 
Hampson  to  ramble  about  over  the  meadow,  and  gather  flowers 
by  the  river  side.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  they  began  to  rake 
up,  and  she  came  to  offer  her  promised  assistance,  and  stoutly 
followed  Eph.  up  and  down  several  of  the  long  swaths,  till  her 
face  glowed  under  her  sun-bonnet  as  it  never  had  glowed  with 
waltzing.  Heated  and  tired  at  last,  she  made  herself  a  seat,  with 
the  new  hay,  under  a  large  elm,  and,  with  her  back  to  the  tree, 
watched  the  labors  of  her  companions. 

Eph.  was  a  well-built  and  manly  figure,  and  all  he  did  in  the 
way  of  his  vocation,  he  did  with  a  fine  display  of  muscular  power, 
and  (a  sculptor  would  have  thought),  no  little  grace.  Julia 
watched  him,  as  he  stepped  along  after  his  rake  on  the  elastic 
sward,  and  she  thought,  for  the  first  time,  what  a  very  handsome 
man  was  young  Bracely,  and  how  much  more  finely  a  man  look 
ed  when  raking  hay,  than  a  dandy  when  waltzing.  And,  for  an 
hour,  she  sat  watching  his  motion*,  admiring  the  strength  with 
which  he  pitched  up  the  hay,  and  the  grace  and  ease  of  all  his 
movements  and  postures  ;  and  after  a  while  she  began  to  feel 
drowsy  with  fatigue,  and  pulling  up  the  hay  into  a  fragrant  pil 
low,  she  lay  down,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  and  the  old  farmer, 
who,  of  late  years,  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  taking  a  short 
nap  before  dinner,  came  to  the  big  elm  to  pick  up  his  waistcoat 
and  go  home.  As  he  approached  the  tree,  he  stopped,  and  beck 
oned  to  his  son. 

Eph.  came  up  and  stood  at  a  little  distance,  looking  at  the 
lovely  picture  before  him.  With  one  delicate  hand  under  her 
cheek,  and  a  smile  of  angelic  content  and  enjoyment  on  her  finely 


312  RIGHT   AT   LAST. 


cut  lips,  Julia  Hampson  slept  soundly  in  the  shade.  One  small 
foot  escaped  from  her  dress,  and  one  shoulder  of  faultless  polish 
and  whiteness  showed  between  her  kerchief  and  her  sleeve.  Her 
slight  waist  bent  to  the  swell  of  the  hay,  throwing  her  delicate 
and  well-moulded  bust  into  high  relief :  and  all  over  her  neck, 
and  in  large  clusters  on  the  tumbled  hay,  lay  those  glossy  brown 
ringlets,  admirably  beautiful  and  luxuriant. 

And  as  Eph.  looked  on  that  dangerous  picture  of  loveliness, 
the  passion,  already  lying  perdu  in  his  bosom,  sprung  to  the 
throne  of  heart  and  reason. 

(We  have  not  room  to  do  more  than  hint  at  the  consequences 
of  this  visit  of  Miss  Hampson  to  the  country.  It  would  require 
the  third  volume  of  a  novel  to  describe  all  the  emotions  of  that 
month  at  Bracely  farm,  and  bring  the  reader,  point  by  point, 
gingerly  and  softly,  to  the  close.  We  must  touch  here  and  there 
a  point  only,  giving  the  reader's  imagination  some  gleaning  to  do, 
after  we  have  been  over  the  ground.) 

Eph.  Bracely's  awakened  pride  served  him  the  good  turn  of 
making  him  appear  simply  in  his  natural  character,  during  the 
whole  of  Miss  Hampson's  visit.  By  the  old  man's  advice,  how 
ever,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  amusement  of  the  ladies  after  the 
haying  was  over  ;  and  what  with  fishing,  and  riding,  and  scenery- 
hunting  in  the  neighborhood,  the  young  people  were  together 
from  morning  till  night.  Miss  Pifflit  came  down,  unwillingly,  to 
plain  Meg,  in  her  attendance  on  her  friend  in  her  rustic  occupa 
tions,  and  Miss  Hampson  saw  as  little  as  possible  of  the  inside  of 
the  boudoir.  The  barn,  and  the  troops  of  chickens,  and  all  the 
out-door  belongings  to  the  farm,  interested  her  daily,  and  with  no 
diminution  of  her  zeal.  She  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  found  her 
natural  sphere  in  the  simple  and  affectionate  life  which  her  friend 


BORN  TO  LOVE  PIGS  AND  CHICKENS.  313 


Margerine  held  in  such  superfine  contempt;  and  Eph.,  who  was 
the  natural  mate  to  such  a  spirit,  and  himself,  in  his  own  home, 
most  unconsciously  worthy  of  love  and  admiration,  gave  himself 
up  irresistibly  to  his  new  passion. 

And  this  new  passion  became  apparent,  at  last,  to  the  incredu 
lous  eyes  of  his  cousin.  And  that  it  was  timidly,  but  fondly  re 
turned  by  her  elegant  and  high-bred  friend,  was  also  very  appa 
rent  to  Miss  Pifflit.  And,  after  a  few  jealous  struggles,  and  a 
night  or  two  of  weeping,  she  gave  up  to  it  tranquilly — for,  a  city 
life,  and  a  city  husband,  truth  to  say,  had  long  been  her  secret 
longing  and  secret  hope,  and  she  never  had  fairly  looked  in  the 
face  a  burial  in  the  country  with  the  "  pigs  and  chickens." 

She  is  not  married  yet,  Meg  Pifflit — but  the  rich  merchant, 
Mr.  Hampson,  wrecked  completely  with  the  disastrous  times,  has 
found  a  kindly  and  pleasant  asylum  for  his  old  age  with  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Braccly.  And  a  better  or  lovelier  farmer's  wife 
than  Julia,  or  a  happier  farmer  than  Eph.,  can  scarce  be  found 
in  the  valley  of  the  Susquehannah. 


i; 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES, 

"  For,  look  you,  he  hath  as  many  friends  as  enemies ;  which  friends,  sir — as  it  were, — durst 
not— look  you,  sir,— show  themselves— as  we  term  it— his  friends,  while  he's  in  directitude.  " 

CORIOLANUS. 

"  HERMIONE.— Our  praises  are  our  wages." 

WINTER'S  TALK. 


F ,  the  portrait-painter,  was  a  considerable  ally  of  mine  at 

one  time.  His  success  in  his  art  brought  him  into  contact  with 
many  people,  and  he  made  friends  as  a  fastidious  lady  buys  shoes 

trying  on  a  great  many  that  were  destined  to  be  thrown  aside. 

It  was  the  prompting,  no  (fcubt,  of  a  generous  quality — that  of 
believing  all  people  perfect  till  he  discovered  their  faults — but  as 
he  cut  loose  without  ceremony  from  those  whose  faults  were  not 
to  his  mind,  and,  as  ill-fitting  people  are  not  as  patient  of  rejec 
tion  as  ill-fitting  shoes,  the  quality  did  not  pass  for  its  full  value, 
and  his  abusers  were  "  thick  as  leaves  in  Vallambrosa."  The 
friends  who  "  wore  his  bleeding  roses,"  however  (and  of  these  he 
had  his  share) ,  fought  his  battles  quite  at  their  own  charge.  What 
with  plenty  of  pride,  and  as  plentiful  a  lack  of  approbativeness, 

F took  abuse  as  a  duck's  back  takes  rain — buoyant  in  the 

shower  as  in  the  sunshine. 

"  Well,  F '"  I  said,  as  I  occupied  his  big  chair  one  morn- 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES.  315 

ing  while  ho  was  at  work,  "  there  was  great  skirmishing  about  you 
last  night  at  the  tea-party  !" 

"  No  !— really  ?     Who  was  the  enemy  ?" 

"  Two  ladies,  who  said  they  travelled  with  you  through  Italy, 
and  knew  all  about  you — the  Blidgimses." 

"  Oh,  the  dear  old  Blidgimses— Crinny  and  Ninny — the  un 
grateful  monsters  !  Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  my  nursing  those  two 
old  girls  through  the  cholera  ? 

"  No.  But  before  you  go  off  with  a  long  story,  tell  me  how 
you  can  stand  such  abominable  backbiting  ?  It  isn't  once  in  a 
way,  merely  !— you  are  their  whole  stock  in  trade,  and  they  vilify 
you  in  every  house  they  set  foot  in.  The  mildest  part  of  it  is 
criminal  slander,  my  good  fellow  !  Why  not  do  the  world  a 
service,  and  show  that  slander  is  actionable,  though  it  is  com 
mitted  in  good  society  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !     What  does  it  amount  to  t 

'  The  eagle  suffers  little  birds  to  sing, 
And  is  not  careful  what  they  mean  thereby,' 

and,  in  this  particular  instance,  the  jury  would  probably  give  the 
damages  the  other  way— for  if  they  hammer  at  me  till  doomsday, 
I  have  had  my  fun  out  of  them — my  quid  pro  quo  /" 

'  Well,  preface  your  story  by  telling  me  where  you  met 
them.  I  never  knew  by  what  perverse  thread  you  were  drawn 
together." 

:t  A  thread  that  might  have  drawn  me  into  much  more  despe 
rate  extremity— a  letter  from  the  most  lovable  of  women,  charging 
me  to  become  the  trusty  squire  of  these  errant  damsels  wherever 
I  should  encounter  them.  I  was  then  studying  in  Italy.  They 


3io  SERVANT  FOR  LOVE. 


came  to  Florence,  where  I  chanced  to  be,  and  were  handed  over 
to  me  without  dog,  cat,  or  waiting-maid,  by  a  man  who  seemed 
ominously  glad  to  be  rid  of  them.  As  it  was  the  ruralizing  sea 
son,  and  all  the  world  was  flocking  to  the  baths  of  Lucca,  close 
by,  they  went  there  till  I  could  get  ready  to  undertake  them — 
which  I  did,  with  the  devotion  of  a  courier  in  a  new  place,  one 
fig-desiring  evening  of  June." 

"  Was  there  a  delivery  of  the  great  seal  ?"  I  asked,  rather 

amused  at  F 's  circumstantial  mention  of  his  introitus  to 

office. 

u  Something  very  like  it,  indeed.  I  had  not  fairly  got  the 
blood  out  of  my  face,  after  making  my  salaam,  when  Miss  Crinny 
Blidgims  fished  up  from  some  deep  place  she  had  about  her,  a 
memorandum-book,  with  a  well-thumbed  brown  paper  cover,  and, 
gliding  across  the  room,  placed  it  in  my  hands  as  people  on  the 
stage  present  pocket-books — with  a  sort  of  dust-flapping  parabola. 
Is  ow,  if  I  have  any  particular  antipathy,  it  is  to  the  smell  of  old 
flannel,  and,  as  this  equivocal-looking  object  descended  before  my 
nose — faith ! — but  I  took  it.  It  was  the  account-book  of  the 
eatables  and  drinkables  furnished  to  the  ladies  in  their  travels, 
the  prices  of  eggs,  bread,  figs,  et  cetera,  and  I  was  to  begin  my  duties 
by  having  up  the  head  waiter  of  the  lodging-house,  and  holding 
inquisition  on  his  charges.  The  Blidgimses  spoke  no  Italian,  and 
no  servant  in  the  house  spoke  English,  and  they  were  bursting  for 
a  translator  to  tell  him  that  the  eggs  were  over-charged,  and  that 
he  must  deduct  threepence  a  day  for  wine,  for  they  never 
touched  it !" 

"  4  What  do  the  ladies  wish  ?'  inquired  the  dumb-founded 
waiter,  in  civil  Tuscan. 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES.  317 

"  (  What  does  lie  say  ?  what  does  he  say  ?'  cried  Miss  Corinna, 
in  resounding  nasal. 

"  '  Tell  the  impudent  fellow  what  eggs  are  in  Dutchess 
county !'  peppered  out  Miss  Katrina,  very  sharply. 

"  Of  course  I  translated  with  a  discretion.  There  was  rather 
an  incongruity  between  the  looks  of  the  damsels  and  what  they 
were  to  be  represented  as  saying — Katrina  Blidgims  living  alto 
gether  in  a  blue  opera-hat  with  a  white  feather." 

I  interrupted  F—  -  to  say  that  the  blue  hat  was  immortal,  for 
it  was  worn  at  the  tea-party  of  the  night  before. 

"  I  had  enough  of  the  blue  hat  and  its  bandbox  before  we 
parted.  It  was  the  one  lifetime  extravagance  of  the  old  maid, 
perpetrated  in  Paris,  and  as  it  covered  the  back  seam  of  a  wig  (a 
subsequent  discovery  of  mine),  she  was  never  without  it,  except 
when  bonneted  to  go  out.  She  came  to  breakfast  in  it,  mended 
her  stockings  in  it,  went  to  parties  in  it.  1  fancy  it  took  some 
trouble  to  adjust  it  to  the  wig,  and  she  devoted  to  it  the  usual 
dressing-hours  of  morning  and  dinner ;  for  in  private  she  wore  a 
handkerchief  over  it,  pinned  under  her  chin,  which  had  only  to  be 
whipped  off  when  company  was  announced,  and  this,  perhaps,  is 
one  of  the  secrets  of  its  immaculate,  yet  threadbare  preservation. 
She  called  it  her  abbo .'" 

"Her  what?" 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  famous  Herbault,  the  man-milliner,  of 
Paris  ?  The  bonnet  was  his  production,  and  called  after  him  with 
with  great  propriety.  In  Italy,  where  people  dress  according  to 
their  condition  in  life,  this  perpetual  abbo  was  something  a  la 
princesse,  and  hence  my  embarrassment  in  explaining  to  Jacomo, 
the  waiter,  that  Signorina  Katrina's  high  summons  concerned 
only  an  overcharge  of  a  penny  in  the  eggs  !" 


31S  ECONOMY  IX  ITALY. 


And  what  said  Jacomo  ?" 

"  Jacomo  was  incapable  of  an  incivility,  and  begged  pardon 
before  stating  that  the  usual  practice  of  the  house  was  to 
charge  half  a  dollar  a  day  for  board  and  lodging,  including 
a  private  parlor  and  bedroom,  three  meals  and  a  bottle 
of  wine.  The  ladies,  however,  had  applied  through  an  English 
gentlemen  (who  chanced  to  call  on  them,  and  who  spoke  Italian), 
to  have  reductions  made  on  their  dispensing  with  two  dishes  of 
meat  out  of  three,  drinking  no  wine,  and  wanting  no  nuts  and 
raisins.  Their  main  extravagance  was  in  eggs,  which  they  ate 
several  times  a  day  between  meals,  and  wished  to  have  cooked 
and  served  up  at  the  price  per  dozen  in  the  market.  On 
this  they  had  held  conclave  below  stairs,  and  the  result  had  not 
been  communicated,  because  there  was  no  common  language  ; 
but  Jacomo  wished,  through  me,  respectfully  to  represent,  that 
the  reductions  from  the  half-dollar  a  day  should  be  made  as  re 
quested,  but  that  the  eggs  could  not  be  bought,  cooked,  and 
served  up,  (with  salt  and  bread,  and  a  clean  napkin),  for  just 
their  price  in  the  market.  And  on  this  .point  the  ladies  were  ob 
stinate.  And  to  settle  this  difficulty  between  the  high  contract 
ing  parties,  cost  an  argument  of  a  couple  of  hours,  my  first  per 
formance  as  translator  in  the  service  of  the  Blidgimses.  Thence 
forward,  I  was  as  necessary  to  Crinny  and  Ninny — (these  were 
their  familiar  diminutives  for  Corinna  and  Katrina) — as  neces 
sary  to  Crinny  as  the  gift  of  speech,  and  to  Ninny  as  the  wig 
and  abbo  put  together.  Obedient  to  the  mandate  of  the  fair 
hand  which  had  consigned  me  to  them,  I  gave  myself  up  to  their 
service,  even  keeping  in  my  pocket  their  frowsy  grocery-book — 
though  not  without  some  private  outlay  in  burnt  vinegar.  What 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES.  319 

penance  a  man  will  undergo  for  a  pretty  woman  who  cares  noth 
ing  about  him  !" 

"  But  what  could  have  started  such  a  helpless  pair  of  old 
quizzes  upon  their  travels  ?" 

"  I  wondered  myself  until  I  knew  them  better.  Crinny  Blid- 
gims  had  a  tongue  of  the  liveliness  of  an  eel's  tail.  It  would 
have  wagged  after  she  was  skinned  and  roasted.  She  had,  be 
side,  a  kind  of  pinchbeck  smartness,  and  these  two  gifts,  and  per 
haps  the  name  of  Corinna,  had  inspired  her  with  the  idea  that 
she  was  an  improvisatrice.  So,  how  could  she  die  without  going 
to  Italy  ?" 

"  And  Ninny  went  for  company  ?" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ninny  Blidgims  had  a  passion  too  !  She  had  come 
out  to  see  Paris.  She  had  heard  that,  in  Paris,  people  could  re 
new  their  youth,  and  she  thought  she  had  done  it,  with  her  tibbo. 
She  thought,  too,  that  she  must  have  manners  to  correspond.  So, 
while  travelling  in  her  old  bonnet,  she  blurted  out  her  bad  gram 
mar  as  she  had  done  for  fifty  years,  but  in  her  blue  hat  she  sim 
pered  and  frisked  to  the  best  of  her  recollection.  Silly  as  that 
old  girl  was,  however,  she  had  the  most  pellucid  set  of  ideas  on 
the  prices  of  things  to  eat.  There  was  no  humbugging  her  on 
that  subject,  even  in  a  foreign  language.  She  filled  her  pockets 
with  apples,  usually  in  our  walks  ;  and  the  translating  between 
her  and  a  street  huckster,  she  in  her  abbo  and  the  apple-woman 
in  Italian  rags,  was  vexatious  to  endure,  but  very  funny  to  re 
member.  I  have  thought  of  painting  it,  but,  to  understand  the 
picture,  the  spectator  must  make  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Fan 
ny  Blidgims — rather  a  pill  for  a  connoisseur  !  But,  by  this  time, 
you  are  ready  to  approfond,  as  the  French  aptly  say,  the  depths 
of  my  subsequent  distresses. 


320  CHEAP  TRIP 


THE    STORY. 

"  I  had  been  about  a  month  at  Lucca,  when  it  was  suddenly 
proposed  by  Crinny  that  we  should  take  a  vetturino  together,  and 
go  to  Venice.  Ninny  and  she  had  come  down  to  dinner  with  a 
sudden  disgust  for  the  baths — owing,  perhaps,  to  the  distinction 
they  had  received  as  the  only  strangers  in  the  place  who  were  not 
invited  to  the  ball  of  a  certain  prince,  our  next-door  neighbor.  The 
Blidgimses  and  their  economies,  in  fact,  had  become  the  joke  of 
the  season,  and,  as  the  interpreter  in  the  egg-trades,  I  was  mixed 
up  in  the  omelette,  and  as  glad  to  escape  from  my  notoriety  as 
they.  So  I  set  about  looking  up  the  conveyance  with  some  alac 
rity. 

"  By  the  map,  it  was  evidently  a  great  saving  of  distance  to 
cross  the  mountains  to  Modena,  and  of  course  a  great  saving  of 
expense,  as  vetturinos  are  paid  by  the  mile  ;  but  the  guide-books 
stated  that  the  road  was  rough,  and  the  inns  abominable,  and 
recommended  to  all  who  cared  for  comfort,  to  make  a  circum 
bendibus  by  the  way  of  Florence  and  Bologna.  Ninny  declared 
she  could  live  on  bread  and  apples,  however,  and  Crinny  delight 
ed  in  mountain  air — in  short,  economy  carried  it,  and  after  three 
days'  chaffering  with  the  owner  of  a  rattletrap  vettura,  we  set  off 
up  the  banks  of  the  Lima — without  the  blessing  of  Jacomo,  the 
head  waiter ! 

"  We  soon  left  the  bright  little  river,  and  struck  into  the 
mountains,  and,  as  the  carriage  crept  on  very  slowly,  I  relieved 
the  horses  of  my  weight  and  walked  on.  The  ladies  did  the 
same  thing  whenever  they  came  in  sight  of  an  orchard,  and,  for 
the  first  day,  Ninny  munched  the  unripe  apples  and  seemed  get- 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES.  321 


ting  along  very  comfortably.  The  first  night's  lodging  was  exe 
crable,  but  as  the  driver  assured  us  it  was  the  best  on  the  route, 
we  saved  our  tempers  for  the  worst,  and,  the  next  day,  began  to 
penetrate  a  country  that  looked  deserted  of  man,  and  curst  with 
uninhabitable  sterility.  Its  effect  upon  my  spirits,  as  I  walked 
on  alone,  was  as  depressing  as  the  news  of  some  trying  misfor 
tune,  and  I  was  giving  it  credit  for  one  redeeming  quality — that 
of  an  opiate  to  a  tongue  like  Crinny  Blidgimses's — when  both  the 
ladies  began  to  show  symptoms  of  illness.  It  was  not  long  after 
noon,  and  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  waste  upland,  the  road  bend 
ing  over  the  horizon  before  and  behind  us,  and  neither  shed  nor 
shelter,  bush,  wall  or  tree,  within  reach  of  the  eye.  The  only 
habitation  we  had  seen  sinco  morning,  was  a  wretched  hovel,  where 
the  horses  were  fed  at  noon,  and  the  albergo,  where  we  should 
pass  the  night,  was  distant  several  hours — a  long  up-hill  stretch, 
on  which  the  pace  of  the  horses  could  not  possibly  be  mended. 
The  ladies  were  bent  double  in  the  carriage,  and  said  they  could 
not  possibly  go  on.  Going  back  was  out  of  the  question.  The 
readiest  service  I  could  proffer  was  to  leave  them  and  hurry  on  to 
the  inn,  to  prepare  for  their  reception. 

"  Fortunately  our  team  was  unicorn-rigged — one  horse  in  ad 
vance  of  a  pair.  I  took  off  the  leader,  and  galloped  away. 

"  Well,  the  cholera  was  still  lingering  in  Italy,  and  stomachs 
must  be  made  cholera-proof  to  stand  a  perpetual  diet  of  green 
apples,  even  with  no  epidemic  in  the  air.  So  I  had  a  very  clear 
idea  of  the  remedies  that  would  be  required  on  their  arrival. 

"  At  a  hand-gallop  I  reached  the  albergo  in  a  couple  of  hours. 
It  was  a  large  stone  barrack,  intended,  no  doubt,  as  was  the  road 
we  had  travelled,  for  military  uses.  A  thick  stone  wall  surround 
ed  it,  and  it  stood  in  the  midst,  in  a  pool  of  mud.  From  the 
14* 


322  CHOLERA  OUT  OF  PLACE. 


last  eminence  before  arriving,  not  another  object  could  be  de 
scried  within  a  horizon  of  twenty  miles  diameter,  and  a  whitish 
soil  of  baked  clay,  browned  here  and  there  by  a  bit  of  scanty 
herbage,  was  foreground  and  middle  and  background  to  the  pleas 
ant  picture.  The  site  of  the  barrack  had  probably  been  deter 
mined  by  the  only  spring  within  many  miles,  and,  by  the  dryness 
without  and  the  mud  within  the  walls,  it  was  contrived  for  a  mo 
nopoly  by  the  besieged. 

"  1  cantered  in  at  the  unhinged  gate,  and  roared  out  c  casa !' 
4  cameriere  !'  'botega !'  till  I  was  frightened  at  my  own  voice. 

"  No  answer.  I  threw  my  bridle  over  a  projection  of  the 
stone  steps,  and  mounted,  from  an  empty  stable  which  occupied 
the  ground  floor  (Italian  fashion),  to  the  second  story,  which 
seemed  equally  uninhabited.  Here  were  tables,  however,  and 
wooden  settees,  and  dirty  platters — the  first  signs  of  life.  On 
the  hearth  was  an  iron  pot  and  a  pair  of  tongs,  and,  with  these 
two  musical  instruments  I  played  a  tune  which  I  was  sure  would 
find  ears,  if  ears  there  were  on  the  premises.  And  presently  a 
hoavy  foot  was  heard  on  the  stair  above,  and,  with  a  sonorous 
yawn,  descended  mine  host — dirty  and  stolid — a  goodly  pattern  of 
the  '  fat  weed  on  Lethe's  wharf,'  as  you  would  meet  in  a  century. 
He  had  been  taking  his  siesta,  and  his  wife  had  had  a  colpo  di 
sole,  and  was  confined  helplessly  to  her  bed.  The  man  John  was 
out  tending  sheep,  and  he,  the  host,  was,  vicariously,  cook,  waiter, 
and  chambermaid.  What  might  be  the  pleasure  of  U  signorc  ? 

"  My  pleasure  was,  first,  to  see  the  fire  kindled,  and  the  pot 
put  over,  and  then  to  fall  into  a  brown  study. 

"  Two  fine  ladies  with  the  cholera — two  days'  journey  from  a 
physician — a  fat  old  Italian  landlord  for  nurse  and  sole  counsellor 
— nobody  who  could  understand  a  woid  they  uttered,  except 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES.  333 

myself,  and  not  a  drug  nor  a  ministering  petticoat  within  avail 
able  limits !  Then  the  doors  of  the  chambers  were  without 
latches  or  hinges,  and  the  little  bed  in  each  great  room  was  the 
one  article  of  furniture,  and  the  house  was  so  still  in  the  midst  of 
that  great  waste,  that  all  sounds  and  movements  whatever,  must 
be  of  common  cognisance  !  Should  I  be  discharging  my  duty,  to 
ladies  under  my  care,  to  leave  them  to  this  dirty  old  man  ?  Should 
I  offer  my  own  attendance  as  constant  nurse,  and  would  the  ser 
vice  be  accepted  ?  How,  in  the  name  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  were 
these  delicate  damsels  to  be  *  done  for'  1 

"  As  a  matter  of  economy  in  dominos,  as  well  as  to  have  some 
thing  Italian  to  bring  home,  I  had  bought  at  Naples  the  costume 
of  a  sister  of  charity,  and  in  it  I  had  done  all  my  masquerading 
for  three  carnivals.  It  was  among  my  baggage,  and  it  occurred 
to  me  whether  I  had  not  better  take  the  landlord  into  my  confi 
dence,  and  bribe  him  to  wait  upon  the  ladies,  disguised  in  coif 
and  petticoat.  No — for  he  had  a  mustache,  and  spoke  nothing 
but  Italian.  Should  I  do  it  myself  ? 

"  I  paced  up  and  down  the  stone  floor  in  an  agony  of  dilemma. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  I  had  made  up  my  mind.  I  called 
to  Boniface,  who  was  watching  the  boiling  pot,  and  made  a  clean 
breast  to  him  of  my  impending  distresses,  aiding  his  compre 
hension  by  such  eye-water  as  landlords  require.  He  readily 
undertook  the  necessary  lies,  brought  out  his  store  of  brandy, 
added  a  second  bed  to  one  of  the  apartments,  and  promised  faith 
fully  to  bear  my  sex  in  mind,  and  treat  me  with  the  reverence 
due  my  cross  and  rosary.  I  then  tore  out  a  leaf  of  the  grocery 
book,  and  wrote  with  my  pencil  a  note  to  this  effect,  to  be 
delivered  to  the  ladies  on  their  arrival : — 


324  CHOLERA  IN  A  CARRIAGE. 


u  '  DEAR  MISSBLIDGIMS  :  Feeling  quite  indisposed  myself,  and 
being  firmly  persuaded  that  we  are  three  cases  of  cholera,  I  have 
taken  advantage  of  a  return  calesino  to  hurry  on  to  Modena  for 
medical  advice.  The  vehicle  I  take  brought  hither  a  sister  of 
charity,  who  assures  me  she  will  wait  on  you,  even  in  the  most 
malignant  stage  of  your  disease.  She  is  collecting  funds  for  a 
hospital,  and  will  receive  compensation  for  her  services  in  the 
form  of  a  donation  to  this  object.  I  shall  send  you  a  physician 
by  express  from  Modena,  where  it  is  still  possible  we  may  meet. 
With  prayers,  &c.  &c. 

"  '  Yours  very  devotedly, 

« i  p 

"  i  P.  S.  Sister  Benedetta  understands  French  when  spoken, 
though  she  speaks  only  Italian.' 

"  The  delivery  of  this  was  subject,  of  course,  to  the  condition 
of  the  ladies  when  they  should  arrive,  though  I  had  a  presenti 
ment  they  were  in  for  a  serious  business. 

"  And,  true  to  my  boding,  they  did  arrive,  exceedingly  ill. 
An  hour  earlier  than  I  had  looked  for  him,  the  vetturino  came  up 
with  foaming  horses  at  a  tugging  trot,  frightened  half  out  of  his 
senses.  The  ladies  were  dying,  he  swore  by  all  the  saints,  be 
fore  he  dismounted.  He  tore  open  the  carriage  door,  shouted 
for  il  signore  and  the  landlord,  and  had  carried  both  the  groan 
ing  girls  up  stairs  in  his  arms,  before  fat  Boniface,  who  had  been 
killing  a  sheep  in  the  stable,  could  wash  his  hands  and  come  out 
to  him.  To  his  violent  indignation,  the  landlord's  first  care  was 
to  unstrap  the  baggage  and  take  off  my  portmanteau,  condescend 
ing  to  give  him  neither  why  nor  wherefore,  and,  as  it  mounted  the 
stairs  on  the  broad  shoulders  of  my  faithful  ally,  it  was  followed 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDGIMSES.  325 


by  a  string  of  oaths  such  as  can  rattle  off  from  nothing  but  the 
voluble  tongue  of  an  Italian. 

"  I  immediately  despatched  the  note  by  the  host,  requesting 
him  to  come  back  and  '  do  my  dress,'  and,  in  half  an  hour,  sister 
Benedetta's  troublesome  toilet  was  achieved,  and  my  old  Abigail 
walked  around  me,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  swore  I  was  a  '  mera- 
mglia  di  bellezaS  The  lower  part  of  my  face  was  covered  by  the 
linen  coif,  and  the  forehead  was  almost  completely  concealed  in 
the  plain  put-away  of  a  '  false  front ;'  and,  unless  the  Blidgimses 
had  reconnoitred  my  nose  and  eyes  very  carefully,  I  was  sure 
of  my  disguise.  The  improvements  in  my  figure  were,  unluckily, 
fixtures  in  the  dress,  for  it  was  very  hot ;  but,  by  the  landlord's 
account,  they  were  very  becoming.  Do  you  believe  the  old  dog 
tried  to  kiss  me  ? 

"  The  groans  of  Ninny,  meantime,  resounded  through  the 
house,  for,  as  I  expected,  she  had  the  worst  of  it.  Her  exclama 
tions  of  pain  were  broken  up,  I  could  also  hear,  by  sentences  in  a 
sort  of  spiteful  monotone,  answered  in  regular  '  humphs  !'  by 
Crinny — Crinny  never  talking  except  to  astonish,  and  being  as 
habitually  crisp  to  her  half-witted  sister  as  she  was  fluent  to  those 
who  were  capable  of  surprise.  Fearing  that  some  disapprobation 
of  myself  might  find  its  way  to  Ninny's  lips,  and  for  several  other 
reasons  which  occurred  to  me,  I  thought  it  best  to  give  the  ladies 
another  half  hour  to  themselves  ;  and,  by  way  of  testing  my  incog 
nito,  bustled  about  in  the  presence  of  the  vetturino,  warming  oil 
and  mixing  brandies-and-water,  and  getting  used  to  the  suffoca 
tion  of  my  petticoats — for  you  have  no  idea  how  intolerably  hot 
they  are,  with  trowsers  under. 

"  Quite  assured,  at  last,  I  knocked  at  the  door. 

" 4  That's  his  nun  !'  said  Ninny,  after  listening  an  instant. 


326  TODDIES  FOR  CHOLERA. 


"  '  Come  in  ! — that  is  to  say,  entrez  /'  feebly  murmured  Crinny. 

"  They  were  both  in  bed,  rolled  up  like  pocket-handker 
chiefs  ;  but  Ninny  had  found  strength  to  bandbox  her  wig  and 
abbo,  and  array  herself  in  a  nightcap  with  an  exceedingly  broad 
frill.  But  I  must  not  trench  upon  the  4  secrets  of  the  prison- 
house.'  You  are  a  bachelor,  and  the  Blidgimses  are  still  in  a 
4  world  of  hope.' 

"  I  walked  in  and  leaned  over  each  of  them,  and  whispered  a 
benedicite,  felt  their  pulses,  and  made  signs  that  I  understood 
their  complaints  and  they  need  not  trouble  themselves  to  explain  ; 
and  forthwith  I  commenced  operations  by  giving  them  their  grog 
(which  they  swallowed  without  making  faces,  by-the-by),  and,  as 
they  relaxed  their  postures  a  little,  I  got  one  foot  at  a  time  hung 
over  to  me  from  the  side  of  the  bed  into  the  pail  of  hot  water, 
and  set  them  to  rubbing  themselves  with  the  warm  oil,  while  I 
vigorously  bathed  their  extremities.  Crinny,  as  I  very  well 
knew,  had  but  five-and-twenty  words  of  French,  just  sufficient  to 
hint  at  her  wants,  and  Ninny  spoke  only  such  English  as  Heaven 
pleased,  so  I  played  the  ministering  angel  in  safe  silence — listen 
ing  to  my  praises,  however,  for  I  handled  Ninny's  irregular 
doigts  du  pied  with  a  tenderness  that  pleased  her. 

"  Well — you  know  what  the  cholera  is.  I  knew  that,  at  the 
Hotel  Dieu  of  Paris,  women  who  had  not  been  intemperate  were 
oftenest  cured  by  whiskey  punches,  and,  as  brandy  toddies  were 
the  nearest  approach  of  which  the  resources  of  the  place  admit 
ted,  I  plied  my  patients  with  brandy  toddy.  In  the  weak  state 
of  their  stomachs,  it  produced,  of  course,  a  delirious  intoxication, 
and,  as  I  began  very  early  in  the  morning,  there  were  no  lucid 
intervals  in  which  my  incognito  might  be  endangered.  My  min 
istrations  were,  consequently,  very  much  facilitated,  and,  after 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLTDGIMSES.  337 


the  second  day  (when  I  really  thought  the  poor  girls  would  die), 
we  fell  into  a  very  regular  course  of  hospital  life,  and,  for  one,  I 
found  it  very  entertaining.  Quite  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
sister  Bellidettor  (as  Ninny  called  me)  understood  not  a  word  of 
English,  they  discoursed  to  please  themselves ;  and  I  was  obliged 
to  get  a  book,  to  excuse,  even  to  their  tipsy  comprehension,  my 
outbreaks  of  laughter.  Crinny  spouted  poetry  and  sobbed  about 
Washington  Irving,  who,  she  thought,  should  have  been  her  lover  ; 
and  Ninny  sat  up  in  bed,  and,  with  a  small  glass  ehe  had  in  the 
back  of  her  hair-brush,  tried  on  her  abbo  at  every  possible  angle, 
always  ending  by  making  signs  to  sister  Bellidettor  to  come  and 
comb  her  hair  !  There  was  a  long,  slender  moustache,  remain 
ing  on  the  back  of  the  bald  crown,  and,  after  putting  this  into  my 
hand,  with  the  hair-brush,  she  sat  with  a  smile  of  delight  till  she 
found  my  brushing  did  not  come  round  to  the  front ! 

"  4  Why  don't  you  brush  this  lock  ?'  she  cried,  i  this — and  this 
— and  this!'  making  passes  from  her  shining  skull  down  to  her 
waist,  as  if,  in  every  one,  she  had  a  handful  of  hair !  And  so, 
for  an  hour  together,  I  threaded  these  imaginary  locks,  beginning 
where  they  were  rooted  '  long  time  ago,'  and  passing  the  brush 
off  to  the  length  of  my  arm — the  cranium,  when  I  had  done, 
looking  like  a  balloon  of  shot  silk,  its  smooth  surface  was  so  pur 
pled  with  the  friction  of  the  bristles.  Poor  Ninny  !  She  has 
great  temptation  to  tipple,  I  think — that  is,  <  if  Macassar  won't 
bring  back  the  lost  chevelure  ." 

"  About  the  fifth  day,  the  ladies  began  to  show  signs  of  con 
valescence,  and  it  became  necessary  to  reduce  their  potations. 
Of  course  they  grew  less  entertaining,  and  I  was  oblisred  to  be 
much  more  on  my  guard.  Crinny  fell  from  her  inspiration,  and 
Ninny  from  her  complacency,  and  they  came  down  to  their  pre- 


328  AFTER  SUCH  SERVICES. 


vious  condition  of  damaged  spinsters,  prim  and  peevish.  '  Needs 
must'  that  I  should  i  play  out.  the  play,'  however,  and  I  abated 
none  of  my  pctits  soins  for  their  comfort,  laying  out  very  large 
anticipations  of  their  grateful  acknowledgments  for  my  dramatic 
chivalry,  devotion,  and  delicacy  !" 

"  Well — they  are  ungrateful !"  said  I,  interrupting  F for 

the  first  time  in  his  story. 

"  Now,  are  not  they  ?  They  should  at  least,  since  they  deny 
me  my  honors,  pay  me  for  my  services  as  maid-of- all-work,  nurse, 
hair-dresser,  and  apothecary  !  Well,  if  I  hear  of  their  abusing 
me  again,  I'll  send  in  my  bills.  Wouldn't  you  ?  But  to  wind 
up  this  long  story. 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  there  might  be  some  little  circum 
stances,  connected  with  my  attentions,  which  would  look  best  at  a 
distance,  and  that  it  would  be  more  delicate  to  go  on  and  take 
leave  at  Modena  as  sister  Benedetta,  and  rejoin  them  the  next 
morning  in  hose  and  doublet  as  before — reserving  to  some  future 
period  the  clearing  up  of  my  apparently  recreant  desertion.  On 
the  seventh  morning,  therefore,  I  instructed  old  Giuseppe,  the 
landlord,  to  send  in  his  bill  to  the  ladies  while  I  was  dressing,  and 
give  notice  to  the  vetturino  that  he  was  to  take  the  holy  sister  to 
Modena  in  the  place  of  il  signorc,  who  had  gone  on  before. 

"  Crinny  and  Ninny  were  their  own  reciprocal  dressing-maids, 
but  Crinny's  fingers  had  weakened  by  sickness  much  more  than 
her  sister's  waist  had  diminished,  and,  in  the  midst  of  shaving,  in 
my  own  room,  I  was  called  to  l  finish  doing'  Ninny,  who  backed 
up  to  me  with  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  and  the  breath,  for  the  time 
being,  quite  expelled  from  her  body.  As  I  was  straining,  very 
red  in  the  face,  at  the  critical  hook,  Giuseppe  knocked  at  the 
door,  with  the  bill,  and  the  lack  of  an  interpreter  to  dispute  the 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL   BLIDGIMSES.  329 


charges,  brought  up  the  memory  of  the  supposed  '  absquatulator' 
with  no  very  grateful  odor.  Before  I  could  finish  Miss  Ninny 
and  get  out  of  the  room,  I  heard  myself  charged  with  more 
abominations,  mental  and  personal,  than  the  monster  that  would 
have  made  the  fortune  of  Trinculo.  Crinny  counted  down  half 
the  money,  and  attempted,  by  very  expressive  signs,  to  impress 
upon  Giuseppe  that  it  was  enough  ;  but  the  oily  palm  of  the  old 
publican  was  patiently  held  out  for  more,  and  she  at  last  paid  the 
full  demand,  fairly  crying  with  vexation. 

"  Quite  sick  of  the  new  and  divers  functions  to  which  I  had 
been  serving  an  apprenticeship  in  my  black  petticoat,  I  took  my 
place  in  the  vettura,  and  dropped  veil,  to  be  sulky  in  one  lump 
as  far  as  Modena.  I  would  willingly  have  stopped  my  ears,  but, 
after  wearing  out  their  indignation  at  the  unabated  charges  of  old 
Giuseppe,  the  ladies  took  up  the  subject  of  the  expected  dona 
tion  to  the  charity-fund  of  sister  Benedetta,  and  their  expedients, 
to  get  rid  of  it,  occupied  (very  amusingly  to  me)  the  greater  part 
of  a  day's  travel.  They  made  up  their  minds  at  last,  that  half  a 
dollar  would  be  as  much  as  I  could  expect  for  my  week's  attend 
ance,  and  Crinny  requested  that  she  should  not  be  interrupted 
while  she  thought  out  the  French  for  saying  as  much,  when  we 
should  come  to  the  parting. 

"  I  was  sitting  quietly  in  the  corner  of  the  vettura,  the  next 
day,  felicitating  myself  on  the  success  of  my  masquerade,  when 
we  suddenly  came  to  a  halt  at  the  gate  of  Modena,  and  the  dcg- 
aniere  put  his  moustache  in  at  the  window,  with  '  passaporti, 
signori  /' 

"  Murder !  thought  I — here's  a  difficulty  I  never  provided  for  ! 

"  The  ladies  handed  out  their  papers,  and  I  thrust  my  hand 
through  the  slit  in  the  side  of  my  dress  and  pulled  mine  from  my 


330  THE  REVELATION. 


pocket.  As  of  course  you  know,  it  is  the  business  of  this  gate 
keeper  to  compare  every  traveller  with  the  description  given  of 
him  in  his  passport.  He  read  those  of  the  Blidgimses  and  looked 
at  them — all  right.  I  sat  still  while  he  opened  mine,  thinking  it 
possible  he  might  not  care  to  read  the  description  of  a  sister  of 
charity.  But  to  my  dismay  he  did — and  opened  his  eyes,  and 
looked  again  into  the  carriage. 

" '  Aspetta,  caro  ."  said  I,  for  I  saw  it  was  of  no  use.  I  gather 
ed  up  my  bombazine  and  stepped  out  into  the  road.  There  were 
a  dozen  soldiers  and  two  or  three  loungers  sitting  on  a  long 
bench  in  the  shade  of  the  gateway.  The  officer  read  through 
the  description  once  more,  and  then  turned  to  me  with  the  look 
of  a  functionary  who  had  detected  a  culprit.  I  began  to  pull  up 
my  petticoat.  The  soldiers  took  their  pipes  out  of  their  mouths 
and  uttered  the  Italian  l  keck'  of  surprise.  When  I  had  got  as 
far  as  the  knee,  however,  I  came  to  the  rolled-up  trowsers,  and 
the  officer  joined  in  the  sudden  uproar  of  laughter.  I  pulled  my 
black  petticoat  over  my  head,  and  stood  in  my  waistcoat  and 
shirt-sleeves,  and  bowed  to  the  merry  official.  The  Blidgimses, 
to  my  surprise,  uttered  no  exclamation,  but  I  had  forgotten  my 
coif.  When  that  was  unpinned,  and  my  whiskers  came  to  light, 
their  screams  became  alarming.  The  vetturino  ran  for  water, 
the  soldiers  started  to  their  feet,  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  excite 
ment,  I  ordered  down  my  baggage  and  resumed  my  coat  and  cap, 
and  repacked,  under  lock  and  key,  the  sister  Benedetta.  And  not 
quite  ready  to  encounter  the  Blidgimses,  I  walked  on  to  the 
hotel  and  left  the  vetturino  to  bring  on  the  ladies  at  his  leisure. 

"  Of  course  I  had  no  control  over  accidents,  and  this  exposure 
was  unlucky  ;  but,  if  I  had  had  time  to  let  myself  down  softly  on 
the  subject,  don't  you  see  it  would  have  been  quite  a  different 


THOSE  UNGRATEFUL  BLIDIMSES.  331 

sort  of  an  affair  ?  I  parted  company  from  the  old  girls  at  Mo- 
dena,  however,  and  they  were  obliged  to  hire  a  man-servant  who 
spoke  English  and  Italian,  and  probably  the  expense  of  that  was 
added  to  my  iniquities.  Anyhow,  abusing  me  this  way  is  very 
ungrateful  of  these  Blidgimses.  Now,  isn't  it  ?" 


BELLES  OF  NEW   YORK, 


MRS.    VERE. 

A  CHILD,  educated  solely  for  prosperity,  was  Violet  Fanning. 
She  was  literally  a  belle  at  twelve  years  of  age,  for  so  accom 
plished  was  the  beautiful  child  as  a  dancer,  and  so  well-bred  and 
self-collected  in  her  manners  and  replies,  that,  while  passing  a 
gay  month  with  her  mother  at  Saratoga,  the  beaux  approached 
her  with  deference  due  a  lady,  danced  with  her,  and  addressed  to 
her  conversation  as  well  suited  to  the  age  of  eighteen.  Her  mo 
ther,  being  a  woman  of  remarkable  elegance  and  beauty,  her 
father  having  always  lived  like  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  and  the 
family,  in  all  their  connections,  being  understood  to  be  ambitious 
and  worldly,  there  was  little  chance  for  the  fair  Violet  to  escape 
what  is  commonly  considered  a  a  good  match."  She  grew  up  to 
the  marriageable  age  in  singular  perfection  of  style,  personal  de 
velopment  and  mental  aplomb.  The  admiration  she  excited  for 
these  qualities  was  the  greater,  because  her  spirits  were  naturally 
high,  and  her  inevitable  style  of  manner  was  the  brilliant  and 
fearless — the  most  difficult  of  all  manners  to  sustain  proportion 
ately,  and  with  invariable  triumph  and  grace. 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  333 

At  eighteen,  Miss  Fanning,  though  not  living  in  the  city,  was 
one  of  the  best  known  and  most  admired  belles  of  the  time.  To 
a  connoisseur  of  symmetry,  her  movement  and  peculiar  grace, 
even  as  she  walked  in  the  street,  were  a  study.  Of  Arabian 
slightness  and  litheness,  her  figure  still  seemed  filled  out  to  its 
most  absolute  proportion,  and,  with  the  clearness  of  her  hazel  eye, 
the  dazzling  whiteness  of  teeth  without  a  fault,  color  beautifully 
distributed  in  her  face,  and  features  almost  minutely  regular,  she 
seemed  one  of  those  phenomena  of  physical  perfection,  of  which 
sculptors  deny  the  existence.  A  fault-finder  might  have  found 
the  coral  thread  of  the  lips  too  slight,  and  the  nose  too  thin,  in 
its  high-bred  proportion — these  being  indications  of  a  character 
in  which  sentiment  and  tenderness  are  not  prevailing  qualities — 
but,  perhaps,  here,  after  all,  lay  the  secret  of  a  propriety  and 
self-control  never  ostensibly  cared  for,  and  yet  never,  by  any  pos 
sibility,  put  in  peril. 

Cordial  without  hesitation,  joyous  always,  confident  as  a  prin 
cess,  frank  and  simple,  Miss  Fanning  charmed  all — but  appa 
rently  charmed  all  alike.  Of  any  leaning  to  a  flirtation,  no 
human  heart  ever  could  suppose  her  capable.  The  finding  of  a 
mate  for  herself  never  seemed  to  have  entered  her  mind — neither 
that  care,  nor  any  other,  apparently  admissable  through  the  door 
of  a  mind  guarded  by  the  merest  joyousness  of  a  complete  ex 
istence.  Of  the  approaches  which  instinct  makes  every  woman 
understand — the  approaches  of  those  who,  by  the  silent  language 
of  magnetism,  inquire  whether  they  could  be  loved — she  gave  no 
sign  by  a  manner  more  thoughtful,  and  she  was  too  high-minded, 
of  course,  to  betray  any  such  secret  which  she  might  have 
fathomed  ;  but  many  such  approaches  she  doubtless  had.  The 
world,  not  at  all  prepared  by  any  previous  indication,  was  simply 


334  MRS.  VERE. 


surprised,  of  course,  one  fine  day,  to  hear  of  Miss  Fanning's  en 
gagement  to  Mr.  Verc.  It  was  a  match  of  the  highest  possible 
promise — the  gentleman  a  son  of  one  of  the  best  and  wealthiest 
families,  and  the  affianced  an  only  daughter,  and  probably  a  con 
siderable  heiress.  The  wedding  soon  followed,  and  was  unusually 
brilliant.  The  prophecies  were  without  a  shadow. 

Ten  years  have  passed,  and  death  and  change  have  braided 
their  dark  threads  in  the  life-woof  of  Mrs.  Vere,  as  in  those  of 
women  less  fair.  The  fortunes,  of  both  her  husband's  family  and 
her  own,  some  five  years  ago,  lessened,  without  wrecking  alto 
gether,  and  Mr.  Vere,  as  hopes  from  without  gave  way,  turned, 
with  American  facility,  to  resources  within  ;  and,  from  an  elegant 
pursuer  of  pleasure,  became  a  hard-working,  professional  man. 
Both  reared  in  luxury  only — both  with  a  youth-seen  future  of  ex 
clusively  prosperous  anticipation — they  are  now  living  a  life  of 
simple  competence,  and  doubtless  of  careful  economy  ;  but,  how 
Mrs.  Vere  looks  now,  and  how  she  bears  these  reversed  anticipa 
tions,  and  accommodates  herself  to  a  sphere  many  might  think 
trying  and  hard  to  bear,  are  points  that,  we  presume,  will  interest 
our  readers  more  than  any  history  of  a  prosperity  unbroken. 
Men's  resistance  to  adversity  is  positive — a  struggle — a  contest — 
and  therefore  easy.  Women's  is  negative — a  simple,  inactive 
endurance — and  twenty  times  as  difficult.  With  this  truth  in  the 
mind,  the  view  of  a  condition  of  fortune,  whose  reverses  are 
shared  equally  by  a  husband  and  wife,  makes  the  latter's  history 
much  the  more  interesting. 

You  will  not  meet,  in  your  daily  walk  in  New  York,  a  more 
tastefully  dressed,  lady-like  and  elegant  woman  than  Mrs.  Vere 
Her  gait,  and  general  carriage  of  person  are  those  of  one  whose 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  335 


spirit  is  wholly  unsubdued,  whose  arched  foot  has  a  bridge  as 
elastic  as  in  her  'teens  ;  whose  lively  self-confidence  is  without  a 
shadow  of  abatement.  In  even  the  beauty  of  her  face  there  is 
no  absolute  diminution,  for  the  girlish  hue  of  complexion,  and 
the  scarce  perceptible  fullest  degree  of  outline,  are  more  than  re 
placed  by  heightened  expression,  and  by  a  shade  of  inward  ex 
pectation  less  exacting.  Of  the  world  without,  Mrs.  Vere  ex 
pects  as  much  as  ever.  Her  unaltered  valuation  of  her  own  po 
sition,  is  her  beautiful  glory — a  glory  of  which  she  is  probably 
quite  unconscious,  though  it  causes  her  to  be  looked  upon  with 
boundless  respect  and  admiration  by  any  observer  who  knows  the 
world,  and  who  appreciates  the  rarity  of  a  pride  worn  so  loftily 
easy.  By  it  Mrs  Vere  holds  her  husband's  fortunes,  in  every 
important  particular,  where  they  were.  She  compels  the  world, 
by  it,  to  believe  her  untouched  by  any  misfortune  worth  consider 
ing — to  see  her  in  the  same  posture  and  place  of  society  as  be 
fore,  and  yield,  to  her,  every  inch  as  much  of  admiring  conside 
ration.  Though  she  dresses  with  extreme  care  and  with  becoming 
economy,  it  is  the  dress  of  a  woman  who  is  not  at  all  aware  of  hav 
ing  lost  ground  by  a  loss  of  fortune,  and  who  dresses  still  for  the 
same  position ;  and,  obediently,  society  takes  her  at  her  word, 
rates  her  at  her  own  estimate,  and,  at  this  present  moment,  gives 
her  as  much  regard  and  deference  as  she  could  have  had  with 
millions  of  which  to  make  a  display.  She  walks  on  her  errands, 
or  rides  in  an  omnibus, — does  any  proper  thing  she  likes — with 
out  fear  of  committing  her  dignity  Her  open  and  frank  eye  is 
is  without  suspicion  of  any  possible  slight.  She  is,  in  short,  a 
woman  born  with  a  spirit  too  high  for  fortune  to  affect,  and,  freed 
thus  from  the  wear  which,  most  of  all,  makes  inroad  upon  beauty, 


336  MUS.  VEUE. 


she  is  likely,  for  twenty  years  more,    to    be  beautiful  and  at 
tractive. 

Such  is  Mrs.  Vere,  and  slight  observers  will  not  recognise  the 
portrait.     Here  and  there,  one,  who  knows  her,  will. 


THE  BELLES   OF  NEW  YORK, 


MISS  AYMAR,  OF  NEW  YORK. 

BY  the  vote  of  Underdone-dom,  (the  stripling  constituency  of 
belle-ship  in  New  York,)  Miss  Aymar  would,  perhaps,  scarce  be 
elected  a  belle ;  yet  a  stranger,  accustomed  to  the  society  of 
women  of  high  rank,  abroad,  would  recognize  in  her,  at  a  first 
glance,  a  quality  of  beauty  and  manners  which  would  have  been 
the  pride  and  admiration  of  a  court.  Dignified  without  being  re 
pulsive — cold  without  being  reserved — full  and  perfect  in  figure  and 
health,  yet  of  marble  paleness — frank,  yet  smiling  seldom — a  head 
set  very  proudly  upon  the  shoulders,  yet  pliant  and  natural  in  all 
its  movements — she  is  the  type  of  what  is  meant,  abroad,  when 
they  say  of  a  woman  that  she  "  looks  like  a  duchess."  Add  to 
this  an  oval  cast  of  features,  a  well-completed  outline  to  the 
cheek,  a  round  yet  tapering  chin,  and  a  throat  curved  gracefully 
from  the  head,  and  there  seems  nothing  wanting,  to  Miss  Ayrnar, 
of  those  peculiarities  which,  in  England,  are  thought  most  desir 
able  to  grace  a  title. 

In  proportion  to  the  nobleness  and  fine  balance  of  qualities  in  a 
woman,  (and  this  we  have  admired  and  wondered  at,  more  than 
15 


338  MISS  AYMAIl. 


any  other  peculiarity  of  the  sex),  is  the  unsuspecting  readiness  of 
her  assent  to  destiny.  With  all  the  superiority  of  Miss  Aymar, 
and  the  manifest  want  of  a  proper  response  to  the  call  of  her  mind 
and  heart,  she  plays  her  part  with  unaffected  earnestness  and  con 
tentment,  receives  what  attention  falls  to  her  lot  with  as  much 
pleasure  as  if  any  higher  intercourse  and  homage  would  be  beyond 
her  capacity  to  appreciate,  and,  (if  we  may  be  pardoned  the 
similitude,)  simply  does  her  best,  like  a  blood  courser  at  the 
plough,  without  intimating,  by  discontent  or  resistance,  that  her 
fine  nature  is  out  of  place  and  unappreciated.  The  merest 
dancing  partner,  who  bespeaks  an  invitation  to  her  mother's 
house  by  asking  her  hand  for  a  quadrille,  believes  any  favor  there 
may  be  in  the  matter,  to  be  entirely  of  his  own  granting — setting 
down  the  unvoiced  superiority,  by  which  he  is  mysteriously  kept 
at  a  distance,  as  a  "  something  or  other  about  her  manner  which 
is  not  very  agreeable.'' 

Of  course  there  is  a  "  world  of  one's  own,"  without  which  un 
appreciated  poets  would  come  down  to  what  is  thought  of  them, 
and  superior  women,  by  mere  lack  of  recognition,  grow  like  the 
common-place  people  among  whom  they  are  numbered.  Miss 
Aymar  ?s  door  shuts  in  a  tranquil  universe  of  thought,  of  choice 
books,  and  of  culture  which  is  a  luxury  without  effort ;  and  here 
the  mind,  which  is  bent  to  the  world,  daily  recovers  its  stature, 
and  the  sympathies,  whose  noble  harmony  is  diminished  to  accord 
with  lesser  natures,  resume  their  capability  and  tone.  It  is  by 
natural  and  unconscious  echo  to  the  chance-sounded  key-note  of 
a  kindred  mind,  that  the  true  melody  of  this  inner  life  is  alone 
betrayed,  for  it  is  never  ostentatiously  sounded  to  those  whom  it 
might  disparage  or  rebuke.  Miss  Aymar  has  her  appreciators ; 
but,  unfortunately,  from  the  very  advance  of  her  progress,  they 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  339 


are  necessarily  only  those  whom  she  has  overtaken — who  are  not 
of  her  own  age — who  have  learned,  by  disappointment,  compa 
rison,  and  life's  varied  experiences  of  bitter  and  sweet,  the  true 
value  of  what  she  scarce  recognises  in  herself.  In  foreign  society, 
where  the  men,  up  to  a  marriageable  age,  are  kept  away  from 
narrowing  cares  and  devoted  wholly  to  such  general  cultivation  as 
fits  them  to  adorn  fortune  when  they  receive  it,  and  fitly  to  mate 
the  delicacy  and  dignity  of  a  superior  woman  when  they  wed  her, 
she  would  only  have  the  embarrassment  of  choice,  among  compe 
titors  for  her  hand,  all  suitable  in  age  and  accomplishments. 
Here,  such  youths  are  rare  5  and,  as  Miss  Aymar  is  not  a  woman 
to  marry  except  with  the  fullest  consent  of  her  own  taste  and 
feeling,  she  is  (we  admiringly  fear  !)  in  some  danger  of  never 
being  the  wife  she  could  be — the  perfect  wife  made  up  of  contra 
dictions  and  contrasts — such  a  one  as  Shakspeare's  Helena  pro 
mises  to  be  to  Bertram  : — 


•'  A  thousand  loves; 
A  mother  and  a  mistress  and  a  friend ; 
A  phoenix,  captain  and  an  enemy : 
A  guide,  a  goddess  and  a  sovereign  ; 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress  and  a  dear  ; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility; 
His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet; 
His  faith ;  his  sweet  disaster  ;  with  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptions  Christendoms 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips." 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK, 


FANNY    TRELLINGER. 

FANNY  TRELLINGER  is  a  belle  by  mistake.  She  does  not  un 
derstand  it  herself.  And,  if  continually  "  trying  on"  hearts, 
like  shoes,  and  dropping  them  with  as  little  ceremony  as  mis-fits 
of  morocco,  prove  a  young  lady  to  be  a  coquette,  Fanny  Trellin- 
ger  is  a  coquette.  Yet  she  does  not  deserve  to  be  called  one. 

Miss  Trellinger  is  a  blonde  of  whom  even  Buchanan  Read,  that 
skilful  idealizer  of  the  pencil,  could  scarce  make  a  beauty.  Her 
eyes,  hair,  waist  and  shoulders  might  belong  to  the  most  neglect 
ed  of  wall-flowers.  She  dresses  well,  from  obedience  to  uncon 
scious  good  taste,  but  forgets  her  dress  and  her  looks,  from  the 
moment  she  leaves  her  mirror  till  she  comes  back  to  it  again.  If 
she  has  any  mere  personal  charm  it  is  one  which  is  seldom  recog 
nized  except  by  painters — (though  it  indicates  a  delightful  quality 
in  a  woman,  but  it  can  belong  to  none  but  the  habitually  self- 
forgetful) — her  mouth  has  those  Hunt  corners  which  the  tension 
of  a  forced  smile  alters  to  a  sharp  angle.  Probably  no  man  ever 
admired  Miss  Fanny  from  seeing  her,  merely.  She  reaches 
hearts  without  paying  the  toll  of  beauty  for  passing  in  at  the 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK. 


341 


eyes.  To  feel  her  fascination,  one  must  converse  with  her  ;  and 
the  invariable  attraction,  which  affects  those  who  approach  her 
thus  near,  is  as  mysterious  to  most  lookers-on,  as,  to  a  child  is 
the  sudden  jumping  of  needles  when  brought  into  the  neighborhood 
of  a  magnet.  It  does  not  seem  to  require  particular  qualities  to  be 
subject  to  her  influence.  All  kinds  of  men,  from  a  Wall-street 
tetrarch  to  an  unbuttered  asparagus  in  his  first  tail-coat,  find  her 
delightful.  She  might  seem,  indeed,  indiscriminate  in  her  liking ; 
for,  though  her  magnetism  depends  on  what  is  entirely  within  her 
own  control,  she  exercises  it  on  every  new  comer  who  approaches 
her — withholding  it  from  none  except  those  she  has  rejected  or 
known  enough  of.  Few  people  in  this  world  being  capable  (as 
the  doctors  say)  of  "  clearly  telling  what  ails  them,"  the  secret 
of  this  omni-fascination  does  not  get  out,  even  through  the  con 
fessions  of  its  victims ;  and  Miss  Trellinger  shops  at  Stewart's — 
of  all  the  belles  who  go  there,  the  one  whose  silks  and  muslins 
minister  to  conquests  the  most  unaccountable. 

It  would  be  vain  to  look  for  the  secret  of  this  invisible  charm, 
in  the  education,  or  reading,  or  conversational  talent  of  Miss 
Fanny.  Within  the  ordinary  outline  of  school-routine,  she  was 
left  to  educate  herself ;  her  reading  is  pursued  with  no  system, 
and  is  rather  less,  than  more,  than  that  of  other  young  ladies  ; 
and,  in  conversation  she  says  singularly  little.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  her  most  desperate  admirer  ever  quoted  any  remark  of 
hers  as  peculiar  or  clever,  and  she  never,  herself,  entertained  the 
remotest  idea  of  expressing  a  thought  so  as  to  make  an  impres 
sion.  We  seem,  thus  far,  to  have  almost  proved  that  her  fas 
cination  is  neither  of  person  nor  mind — yet  it  is  not  so,  alto 
gether. 

Whether  from  some  bent  of  the  mind  early  taken,  or  from  an 


342  FANNY  TRELLINGEB. 


accident  of  combined  mental  quaUtios,  it  is  difficult  to  say — but 
Miss  Trellinger's  most  powerful  instinct  is  curiositj^  as  to  undis 
closed  qualities  of  character.  This  is  united,  of  course,  with  a 
sanguine  belief  in  the  superiority  of  concealed  qualities  to  those 
upon  the  surface  ;  and  the  taste,  like  that  for  love  and  pleasure, 
seems  not  to  diminish  by  disappointment.  Every  man  who  ap 
proaches  her  as  a  new  acquaintance,  is  a  new  enigma  of  intense 
interest ;  and  she  sets  aside  his  first  politenesses,  or  quietly  waits 
for  their  exhaustion,  and  brings  him  as  soon  as  possible  to  that 
state  of  communicativeness  when  he  will  talk  freely  of  himself 
and  tell  his  hates  and  loves,  hopes  and  ambitions.  A  botanist 
does  not  more  attentively  and  patiently  take  to  pieces  a  complex 
flower.  Her  natural- tact  and  ingenuity  at  inspiring  confidence 
and  provoking  the  betrayal  of  secret  springs  of  thought  and  pro 
pensity,  are,  perhaps,  enough,  alone,  to  stamp  her  as  a  superior 
girl,  and,  differently  trained,  they  might  have  been  the  basis  of  a 
yery  uncommon  character  for  a  woman. 

All  unconscious  that  she  is  doing  more  than  to  gratify  a  sim 
ple  thirst  for  the  discovery  of  heroic  qualities,  dormant  and  un 
appreciated,  Miss  Fanny,  meantime,  plays  a  game  that  no  art  or 
fascination  could  outdo.  Forgetful  of  herself,  and  perfectly  hon 
est  in  her  desire  to  know  deeply  the  character  within,  her  mani 
fest  sincerity  puts  incredulity  at  once  to  sleep  ;  and  the  self-love 
of  the  heart  she  strives  to  read,  throws  down  its  defences,  and 
believes  it  has  found,  at  last,  the  fond  intensity  with  which  it 
sighed  to  be  appreciated !  The  manner  of  Miss  Trellinger, 
without  being  carressing,  is  that  of  earnest,  exclusive  and  grave 
attention.  Her  eyes  are  fastened  on  the  lips  of  the  speaker  ;  the 
tones  in  which  she  gives  her  assent,  or  puts  her  simple  and  in 
genuous  yet  most  pertinent  questions,  are  subdued  to  an  appealing 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  343 


contralto  by  the  interest  she  really  feels ;  and  the  expression  of 
her  countenance  while  she  listens,  says,  more  earnestly  than  Co- 
riolanus : — 

"  Prithee,  say  on  ! 

The  setting  of  thine  eye  and  cheek  proclaim 
A  matter  from  thee  !" 

The  love  that  is  incidentally  and  inevitably  made  to  Miss 
Fanny,  all  this  time,  she  receives  with  the  sanguine  appreciation, 
with  which  she  believes  in  each  character  while  studying  it.  It 
is  the  love  of  a  hero,  a  poet,  a  philosopher,  a  chivalric  and  high 
hearted  gentleman — or  so  she  estimates  and  answers  it.  Her  no 
tion  of  love  is  as  elevated  as  her  expectation  of  quality  in  the 
man  she  seeks,  and  by  the  dignity  and  earnestness  of  her  brief 
responses  of  tenderness,  she  really  inspires  that  kind  of  impassion 
ed  respect  which  is  the  ground-work  of  affections  the  most  lasting. 

It  will  be  seen  that  while  the  temporary  intimacies  of  Miss 
Trellinger  look,  to  careless  observers,  like  any  other  of  the  flirta 
tions  going  on  in  society,  the  unseen  weapons  with  which  she 
achieves  her  conquests  are  more  formidable  than  is  suspected. 
As  was  remarked  before,  her  victims  could  not,  or  would  not  pre 
cisely  tell  what  had  attracted  and  won  them  ;  and  their  persever 
ance  in  attention,  after  being  dropped  and  slighted  by  her,  is 
even  more  a  subject  of  bewildered  wonder,  to  her  female  acquaint 
ances,  than  the  conquest  itself.  She  passes,  very  naturally,  for 
heartless,  capricious  and  hypocritical — for  one  who  does  her  ut 
most  to  captivate,  for  the  sake  of  the  triumph  only.  Her  acute 
perceptions  are  always  waiting  for  her  glowing  imagination  to  ex 
haust  itself,  however ;  and  a  sudien  arrival  at  the  termination  of 
a  shallow  character,  or  an  unconscious  disclosure  of  a  quality  in 
consistent  with  her  ideal,  inspires  bor  with  a  disappointment  or 


344  FANNY  TRELLINGER 


disgust  proportionate  to  her  expectations,  and,  it  is  only  by  in 
tercourse  abruptly  ended  that  she  can  avoid  even  a  rude  expres 
sion  of  her  feeling.  There  is,  in  the  world,  unquestionably,  such 
character  as  Miss  Fanny  Trellinger  seeks  with  this  thirst  insa 
tiable.  Should  she  find  it,  she  would  "  love  with  a  continuance," 
there  is  little  doubt ;  but  she  may  find,  that,  with  such  men,  the 
expectations  from  the  love  of  woman  are  large  ;  and  she  may  re 
gret  that  some  of  the  intensity  of  her  nature  had  not  been  ex 
pended  on  that  self-culture  which  alone  can  satisfy,  in  the  un-im- 


BELLES  OF  NEW   YORK, 


MRS.  LETTRELL. 

THERE  is  a  great  deal  silently  recognized  and  known  in  this 
world,  which,  still,  seems  first  discovered  when  first  spoken  of. 
And  there  is  a  great  deal  understood  which  seems  misunderstood  ; 
for  society,  very  often,  confidently  expresses  one  opinion  of  a  per 
son,  and  yet,  whenever  brought  into  contact  with  that  same 
person,  acts  upon  an  unexpressed  and  totally  different  estimate. 
The  truth  is  that  most  of  us  are  far  wiser  than  our  words  would 
prove  us  to  be — the  art  of  first  clothing  an  idea,  being  so  different 
and  evasive  that  few  try  it  at  all,  and  most  people  so  invariably 
borrowing  the  word-clothes  for  their  opinions,  that  the  true 
things  they  think  are  not  recognizable  in  the  erroneous  things 
they  say. 

The  above  truisms  would  probably  occur  to  any  one  after  read 
ing  the  sketch  I  am  about  to  draw ;  but  it  would  seem,  at  first 
glance,  to  be  something  of  a  riddle,  and  those  who  are  as  little 
fond  of  deferred  revelations  as  I,  will  approve,  perhaps,  that  1 
have  first  given  the  solution. 

Leaning,  one  enchanting  summer's  morning,  two  or  three  years 


346  MRS    LFITKELL. 


ago,  from  the  upper  balcony  of  a  hotel  on  the  road  to  a  watering 
place,  I  chanced  to  see,  spread  out  upon  the  railing  of  the  bal 
cony  below,  a  lady's  hand.  A  white  cuff,  with  an  inch  or  two  of 
the  sleeve  of  a  mourning  dress,  was  all  I  could  see,  besides,  of  the 
tranquil  owner — tranquil  I  say,  for  she  sat,  during  the  fifteen 
minutes  that  she  was  left  alone  by  her  companions,  with  that  out- 
sprea'd  hand  absolutely  motionless — evidently  drinking  the  sum 
mer  into  its  pores  of  pearl  with  the  enjoyment  and  forgetful 
luxuriousness  of  a  water-lily  newly  ungloved.  The  party,  of 
which  the  lady  was  one,  had  arrived  but  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  I  had  not  yet  seen  her  face  or  figure ;  but  I  insensibly 
formed  an  estimate  of  her  character  from  a  study  of  her  hand 
only,  and  had  even  sketched  to  myself,  though,  of  course,  with  a 
mere  chance  of  correctness,  her  expression  of  countenance,  fea 
tures  and  form. 

The  hand  is  not  always  a  reliable  index  to  the  character.  It 
is,  more  than  any  other  portion  of  the  body,  likely  to  give  a  de 
formed  betrayal  of  any  peculiar  manual  labor  in  those  from  whom 
it  has  descended.  A  moderate  experience  in  palmistry  will 
enable  one  to  distinguish  a  shoemaker's  daughter  from  a  tailor's,  for 
instance — the  enlargement  of  one  particular  muscle  or  finger  by 
constant  effort  being  handed  down  like  a  family  feature.  Where 
it  is  unmodified  by  any  special  influence,  however,  the  hand  is  ex 
pressive  of  the  presence,  or  want,  of  two  or  three  leading  qualities 
in  female  character,  and  gives  often  a  dumb  but  lively  promise  of 
sweetness  else  undisclosed. 

In  the  beautiful  and  motionless  one  spread  out,  so  unconscious 
of  observation,  on  the  railing  below  my  eye,  I  read  exquisite  sen 
sibility  to  pleasure,  joyous  love  of  the  beautiful,  generous  freedom 
from  suspicion,  delicacy  still  un-alarmed,  frankness,  and,  if  I  may 


BELLES  OF  NEW  Y011K. 


347 


so  express  it,  sensuous  poetry  of  nature.  It  was  not  a  small  hand. 
The  dimples  were  round  and  scarce  perceptible.  The  upper 
joints  of  the  long  and  taper  fingers  were  so  full  as  to  give  an  ex 
quisite  expression  of  dreamy  and  idle  tenderness,  while  at  the 
same  time  there  was  a  look  of  the  finest  dexterity  and  nicest  ele 
gance  in  the  slender  and  rosy  nails.  The  whole  posture  and 
form  of  the  hand  showed  a  habit  of  unreluctant  and  obedient 
expansion  to  impulse,  and  it  looked  as  unwithdrawing  and  trust 
ful  as  the  opening  petals  of  a  rose. 

I  had  thus  far  studied  the  viewlessly  written  page  of  character, 
accidentally  opened  in  its  dewy  fairness  to  my  perusal,  when  I 
was  accosted  by  an  acquaintance,  who  chanced  to  be  one  of  the 
lady's  party.  He  told  me  who  it  was,  sitting  in  the  balcony  be 
low,  and,  to  a  question  or  two  of  my  own,  gave  me  her  character 
— as  that  of  a  lady  who  disliked  society,  was  very  strict  in  the 
education  of  her  children,  highly  religious,  devoted  to  the  poor, 
and  passionately  fond  of  riding  on  horseback.  I  tacitly  made  use 
of  my  own  better  reading  to  separate  what  was  probably  true, 
from  what  I  knew  to  be  erroneous,  in  this  hearsay  estimate  of 
character,  but  stored  away  a  resolution  to  know  more  of  the 
owner  of  that  hand,  whom  I  had  met  and  was  likely  to  meet  again, 
but  who  had  hitherto  passed,  gloved  and  unobserved,  in  the  dazzle 
of  more  pretentious  society. 

So  easily  do  we  let  a  superficial  impression  guide  us,  in  our 
selection  of  persons  to  observe  and  admire,  that,  (but  for  the 
chance  revealing  by  that  expressive  hand,)  I  might  very  possibly, 
have  continued,  even  till  now,  to  meet,  without  recognition  of  its 
veiled  brightness,  this  one  of  the  cluster  of  better  spirits,  moving, 
like  electric  sparks,  through  the  dull  metal  of  every  human 
society  Mrs.  Lettrell  is  beautiful,  certainly,  but  it  is  beauty  of 


348  MRS.  LETTRELL. 


that  kind  which  dissolves  film  after  film  from  off  your  eye  as  you 
grow  interested  in  gazing  on  it ;  and,  much  admiration  as  she 
attracts  from  trifling  observers,  a  man  of  sense  would  be  very 
likely  to  take  this  common  attraction  to  express  her  whole  value, 
and  not  give  her  the  after  study  which  would  disclose  to  him  the 
finer  quality  of  the  nature,  admired  thus  partially  yet  instinct 
ively. 

To  anticipate  once  more.  Nature  seems  to  have  completed 
the  character  of  Mrs.  Lettrell,  and  forgetfully,  afterwards,  to 
have  relifted  its  cup  of  perfect  mixture  and  added  to  it  an  un- 
needed  drop  of  conscientiousness.  To  this  double  portion  of  the 
corrective  ingredient,  the  joyous  and  life-teeming  impulses  of  a 
heart,  whose  self-abandonment  would  be  as  safe  as  a  fount's  to 
its  overflow,  are  perpetually  in  check.  No  thrill  of  pleasure  goes 
through  her  heart  unchallenged  ;  no  intention,  save  one  of  duty, 
escapes  being  called  to  order  ;  no  glow  of  impassioned  worship  of 
the  beautiful  kindles  in  her  bosom  unrebuked.  Like  an  ingre 
dient  added  too  late  for  solution,  however,  this  last  superfluous 
drop  has  not  tinctured,  though  it  mingles  with,  the  other  qualities  ; 
and  often,  in  repose,  separates  quite,  and  leaves  her  else  perfect 
and  impulsive  nature  all  transparent.  To  this  release  she  yields 
with  the  feeling  of  escape  from  school — when  on  horseback,  or 
when  the  enchantments  of  summer  or  moonlight,  poetry  or  music, 
take  her  by  surprise — though,  for  every  such  indulgence  she  calls 
herself  to  account,  and  balances  it  by  a  self-imposed  penance  of 
distasteful  duty. 

Forced  into  gay  society  by  relatives  and  unavoidable  influences, 
Mrs.  Lettrell  constantly  and  sincerely  expresses  her  unwillingness 
to  be  there,  dresses  pertinaciously  in  a  way  to  disguise  whatever 
beauty  she  has  that  might  seem  to  invite  admiration,  and  per- 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  349 


petually  checks  her  own  joyousness  and  the  careless  conversation 
of  others,  to  suggest  graver  topics  or  make  interest  for  a  benevo 
lent  object.  The  talk  of  society  takes  her  at  her  own  valuation, 
and  no  one  will  express  an  opinion  of  her  except  as  an  over-ex 
emplary  woman,  who  would  not  have  been  handsome  if  she  could 
have  helped  it — but  around  her,  notwithstanding,  cluster  the  life- 
loving,  the  youthful  and  the  impulsive,  and,  though  none  would 
allow  that  she  was  not  "  too  good  for  this  world,"  the  most  avow 
ed  mirth-hunter  feels  uncondemned  by  her  presence. 

To  those  grasping  monopolists,  (of  whom  there  is  here  and  there 
one  !)  who  would  possess  that  entire  world,  a  woman's  heart,  as 
unshared  as  Eden  when  Adam  first  looked  around  him  alone,  this 
composition  of  character — like  a  summer's  day  with  a  lock  and 
key  to  it — is  the  treasure  that  rewards  any  cost  of  search,  even 
without  beauty ;  but,  coupled  with  beauty,  of  priceless  rarity  and 
value. 

J  break  oif  abruptly  and  unwillingly,  leaving  a  singular  and 
beautiful  character  drawn  only  in  outline  ;  but  to  say  more  would 
be  an  invasion  of  propriety,  and  perhaps,  too,  they  who  are  capa 
ble  of  best  appreciating  it,  will  be  able  to  supply  what  is  left  un- 
pencilled.  In  great  danger  of  giving  offence,  even  as  it  is,  I  have 
abstained  from  sketching  form  or  features,  describing  only  the 
fair  hand  which  so  truly  first  revealed  the  character  to  my  own 
knowledge,  and  which  few,  whose  recognition  would  be  trouble 
some,  will  ever  chance  to  see  ungloved. 


BELLES  OF  NEW   YORK, 


HOPE  CHASMAR. 

IN  every  block  of  marble  there  is  a  concealed  statue.  And 
this  assertion,  so  susceptible  of  qualification,  probably  corresponds 
in  truth  and  definiteness,  to  the  optimistic  axiom,  that  "  there  is? 
a  beautiful  ideal  in  the  character  of  every  human  being" — want 
ing  only  development.  I  have  known  some  men — (and  I  presume, 
therefore,  that  there  may  be  here  and  there  a  woman) — whom 
chiselling  or  developing,  by  human  art  or  circumstances,  could 
possibly  make  interesting  or  admirable. 

Incredulity,  however,  would  as  wrongfully  lead  to  the  other 
extreme.  In  more  of  the  people  about  us  than  we  should  think 
possible,  there  are  capabilities  of  the  higher  displays  of  character, 
wanting  only  favorable  culture  and  opportunity.  Among  women, 
more  particularly,  whose  bud  and  flower  of  youth  are  left  to  grow 
more  spontaneously  than  those  of  men — less  crowded  by  care  and 
less  rudely  handled  by  vice  and  antagonism — the  inherent  qualities 
of  mind,  ready  to  bloom  and  bear  fruit  luxuriantly,  with  but  a 
little  pruning  and  transplanting,  are  often  beautifully  visible.  To 
a  philosophic  observer,  the  discovery  and  appreciation  of  these 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  351 


uncommon  capabilities,  in  those  who  pass  for  but  ordinary  persons, 
gives  to  society  the  additional  interest  which  a  botanist  feels  in 
walking  over  a  common  field — seeing  curious  plants,  and  flowers 
of  divine  purpose  and  structure,  on  ground  which  another  man 
walks  over  without  thought  or  interest. 

The  writers  of  romance  have  found  it  so  much  easier  to  make 
heroines  out  of  "  dark  eyes  "  and  "  raven  locks,"  than  out  of  blue 
eyes  and  fair  hair,  that  a  light  complexion  has,  by  dint  of  the 
mere  repetition  of  this  trick  of  authorship,  grown  to  be  considered 
a  natural  sign  of  "  nothing  remarkable."  Almost  any  one,  sent 
into  a  ball-room  to  select,  from  a  hundred  young  ladies,  the  one 
most  capable  of  a  heroic  action,  would  first  reject  all  who  had 
had  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair — taking  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that 
the  pick  must  be  from  the  dark-eyed  only.  And  this  would  be 
very  likely  to  be  a  mistake ;  for  the  sanguineous  temperaments  of 
light-complexioned  people  are  both  more  hopeful  and  more 
enthusiastic,  and  these  are  two  essential  ingredients  of  the  heroic, 
which,  as  mere  matters  of  temperament,  may  be  possessed  without 
affecting  the  comparison  in  other  qualities. 

Hope  Chasmar  is  not  beautiful  enough,  nor  is  her  family 
wealthy  enough,  to  account  for  all  the  attention  she  receives. 
Her  light  hair  is  magnificently  abundant,  it  is  true,  and  her  head 
is  moulded  in  those  admirable  proportions  which  attract  a 
sculptor's  eye ;  but  neither  of  these  are  beauties  definitively 
recognized  by  the  class  of  beaux  who  find  her  attractive.  She 
has  the  two  peculiarities  which  belong  to  all  people  capable  of 
great  enthusiasm,  an  expansive  chest  and  thin  nostrils,  and  she 
has  one  other  personal  mark  inseparable  from  lofty  character — 
motion  without  angles  or  pettiness — so  that,  whether  she  lifts  a 
hand  or  turns  her  head,  it  expresses  amplitude  of  feeling,  and 


352  HOPE  GHASMAR. 

freedom  from  suspicious  reserves.  Her  features,  as  a  whole, 
inspire  confidence  and  liking,  while,  in  detail,  they  are  neither 
very  regular  nor  very  decided. 

A  bird  singing  his  song  on  a  bough,  however,  and  the  same 
bird,  with  his  wings  spread  for  flight,  and  glittering  in  the  sun- 
flecks  as  he  sweeps  through  a  wood,  is  not  more  different  than 
the  countenance  of  Hope  Chasmar  habitually,  and  the  same  face 
at  transient  and  fitful  moments  of  startled  imagination.  Without 
the  conscious  but  undefined  orbit  of  nobler  action  for  which  her 
soul  is  instinctively  aiming  its  impulses,  she  would  not,  perhaps, 
have  that  generous  self-forgetfulness  and  unrebuking  nobleness  of 
demeanor,  which  make  her  attractive  to  ordinary  men ;  so  that 
she  owes,  indirectly,  to  her  heroic  character,  the  common  and  un- 
appreciative  homage  which  makes  her  a  belle ;  but  her  true 
beauty  has  probably  nevor  been  seen  by  one  in  twenty  of  her 
admirers,  or,  if  seen,  has  passed  for  an  accidental  expression  of 
face,  which  might  as  easily  have  been  awakened  by  the  same 
chance  light  upon  any  other.  In  her  ordinary  mood  she  seems 
simply  good-looking,  lady-like,  hearty,  joyous  and  unsuspecting. 
Jn  her  rarer  and  finer  moments,  her  whole  countenance  awakens, 
her  nostrils  and  eyelids  slightly  expand,  her  neck  lifts  from  ii* 
forward  curve,  and  bears  her  fine  head  with  the  fearless  pose  of 
Minerva's,  and  the  muscles  of  her  face,  which  seem  to  have  been 
as  much  out  of  place,  for  effect,  as  busts,  taken  down  from  their 
pedestals,  assume  a  totally  different  proportion,  and  make  a 
totally  different  impression,  on  the  observer's  eye.  The  most 
effective  change,  however,  is  that  of  the  lips — the  genial  expan 
sion,  which  widens  the  mouth  to  a  disadvantageous  straightness  of 
line  with  its  look  of  good  humor,  yielding  to  a  relaxation  of  repose, 
by  which  the  corners  fall,  and  the  "  Cupid's  bow  "  of  the  upper 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  353 

lip  becomes  perfect,  the  lower  lip,  by  the  same  movement,  arching 
into  fulness  and  firmness.  In  a  year  or  two's  observation  of  this 
young  lady,  I  have  noticed  this  change  of  expression,  perhaps  four 
or  five  times ;  but,  at  the  late  Opera  ball,  I  chanced  to  see  her 
look  suddenly  over  her  shoulder  at  an  exciting  change  in  the 
music,  and  I  should  suppose  that  the  look  I  then  saw  awakened, 
would  have  revealed  to  any  observer  that  there  stood  a  heroine 
capable  of  life's  greatest  emergencies. 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK, 


JENNY  EVELAND. 

"  A  MAN  who  loses  his  sight,"  says  Dugald  Stewart,  "  improves 
the  sensibility  of  his  touch :  but  who  would  consent,  for  such  a 
recompense,  to  part  with  the  pleasures  which  he  receives  from 
the  eye  ?"  The  expense  at  which  most  kinds  of  distinction  are 
acquired,  seems  expressed  in  this.  The  right  arm  of  the  sculptor 
has  twice  the  muscular  development  of  the  left — exercised  as  it 
alone  is,  with  the  constant  lift  of  the  leaden  hammer  which  drives 
his  chisel.  But,  inseparable  as  is  this  enlargement  of  the 
thought-conveying  portion  of  the  body  (and  of  a  corresponding 
portion  of  the  brain)  from  the  specific  labor  and  construction 
which  can  alone  bring  fame  to  the  worker  in  marble,  it  is,  no  less, 
an  unequal  development  of  the  system,  and,  just  so  far,  a  lessening 
of  its  perfection.  The  Apollo  Belvidere  is  a  perfect  type  of  a 
man's  figure  and  limbs,  in  healthful  development ;  but  he  never 
could  have  excelled,  as  a  human  sculptor,  without  a  special  exer- 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YORK.  355 


else  of  brain  and  muscle,  which  would  have  enlarged  them  at  the 
expense  of  equal  distribution  of  forces,  and  so  destroyed  him  as  a 
model,  either  of  perfect  health  or  perfect  beauty.  While  the 
possession  of  genius,  therefore,  may  be  consistent  with  entire 
harmony  of  proportion,  the  development  of  it,  or  the  labor  of  con 
centrating  it  upon  any  special  pursuit  to  create  a  fame,  enlarges 
the  exclusively-exerted  portions  of  the  system,  and  destroys  its 
healthful  balance. 

In  the  difference  between  a  mean  indolence  and  the  lofty  re 
sistance  of  Nature  to  this  partial  development,  which  is  demanded 
of  genius — in  the  perpetual  struggle  between  an  instinct  to  exert 
all  the  faculties  equally,  and  an  ambition  for  the  distinction  which 
is  only  attainable  by  exclusive  exercise  of  one — lies  the  "  motive- 
power"  of  the  character  of  Jenny  Eveland.  It  was  only  by  pre 
facing  a  sketch  of  her  with  the  foregoing  somewhat  abstract 
explanation,  that  her  apparent  uncertainty  and  variableness  of 
aim  and  effort  could  be  justly  drawn. 

Miss  Eveland  has  superiority  distributed  throughout  her 
nature.  Her  face  has  been  too  long  subject  to  strong  emotions 
to  be  invariably  attractive.  At  times  it  would  be  called  plain. 
It  is  capable,  however,  of  most  illuminated  beauty,  and  it  is 
always  expressive,  always  frank  and  noble,  with  the  irregular 
features  which  arc  necessary  to  the  highest  expression,  her  form, 
in  all  else,  is  the  perfection  of  feminine  symmetry.  Never  giving 
her  movements  a  thought,  she  walks  with  a  lithe  grace  and  freedom 
that  betrays  her  at  once,  to  the  observing,  as  a  woman  of  perfect 
make.  Her  head  is  admirably  set  on.  An  Indian  girl,  bred  in 
the  forest  like  a  fawn,  would  not  be  more  erect,  nor  of  more  un 
conscious  elasticity  of  carriage  and  mien.  An  unusually  arched 
instep  to  an  exquisite  foot  gives  her  the  mark  of  high  breeding, 


JENNY  EVELAND. 


which  is  most  looked  to  in  the  East,  and  her  slender,  and  yet 
roundly  beautiful  hand,  with  its  tapering  fingers,  has  a  look  of 
discriminating  elegance  that  the  most  careless  of  her  friends 
recognize  and  admire.  A  bright  hazel  eye,  earnest  and  fearless  ; 
profuse  brown  hair,  whose  natural  waves  are  controlled  with  diffi 
culty  by  her  comb,  bright  teeth,  and  one  of  those  voices  of 
"  clouded  contralto"  which  betray  the  tearfulness  of  a  throat  used 
to  keeping  down  sadness,  are  other  peculiarities,  which  go  to  form 
her  portrait,  and  which  share  in  the  delightful  impression  she 
makes  on  all  who  have  the  happiness  to  know  her. 

But,  though  the  mind  of  Jenny  Eveland  is  gifted  as  symmet 
rically  as  her  person — (perhaps  because  it  is) — she  has  no 
believers  in  her  genius,  except  those  who  can  recognise  it  without 
the  evidence  of  its  works — as  some  book  it  has  written,  some 
statue  it  has  chiselled,  or  some  picture  it  has  drawn.  Feeling 
constantly  the  capacity  to  write  as  famous  authors  write,  and  to 
image  beauty,  with  clay  or  pencil,  as  sculptors  and  painters  do,  she 
talks  the  language  of  genius  to  those  who  can  understand  her, 
and  has  all  the  inspired  impulses  of  genius, — its  longings  for 
creative  expression,  its  profound  trances  of  inaction  and  melan 
choly,  its  visions,  and  its  recognitions.  Unusually  trying  circum 
stances  in  her  life  have  shown  that  she  has  energy,  industry,  and 
an  almost  absolute  power  of  self-control — but,  of  course,  with  a 
nature  in  such  complete  proportion,  she  must  needs  u  listen  to 
its  loudest  voice,"  and,  if  her  quick  blood  and  impatient  limbs 
call  her  off  to  dance,  she  must  throw  aside  pen  or  pencil — if  her 
heart  says  it  is  time  to  be  gay,  she  must  abandon  sadness,  though 
poem  or  picture  demand  that  she  should  dwell  on  it  for  comple 
tion.  If  this  be  fickleness  and  idleness,  the  angels  in  heaven, 
(whose  thoughts  of  beauty  come,  as  they  come  to  genius,  but  are 


BELLES  OF  NEW  YOKE  357 


not  arrested  to  be  put  into  books  or  pictures,  nor  patiently  carved 
in  marble)  are  fickle  and  idle. 

Yet,  from  the  curse  of  industry — from  the  "  sweat  of  the 
brow" — no  humanity  is  exempt,  and  ambition,  which  is  the  shape 
under  which  it  compels  proud  minds  to  action,  makes  the  large 
endowments,  of  Jenny  Eveland,  gifts  of  uneasy  possession.  It  is 
not  enough  for  her  that  she  has  glorious  imaginings — that  she 
can  exchange  the  passwords  of  inspiration  with  poets  and  painters, 
that  she  can  go  abroad  from  common  thoughts  as  the  dove  from 
the  ark,  and  return  with  tidings  of  what  could  be  found  with  such 
wings  only.  The  fever  to  prove  this  superiority  to  the  world 
burns  constantly  within  her.  She  would  fain  apply  her  seal  to 
the  impressible  events  and  opinions  of  the  time.  Love,  that 
would  only  call  upon  her  affections,  and  that  would  leave  unem 
ployed  her  finest  powers,  could  not  content  her.  Fame,  on  the 
other  hand,  if  it  gave  her  no  scope  for  the  boundless  tenderness  of 
her  heart,  would  suffice  as  poorly.  She  is  too  gifted  for  common 
love — she  is  too  fond  and  sympathetic  to  breathe  only  the  thin 
atmosphere  of  the  gifted.  And,  in  this  embarrassment  of  a 
nature  too  proportionate  for  a  'World  which  "  the  curse"  has  made 
one  of  unequal  development,  the  youth  of  Jenny  Eveland  is  passing 
unsatisfied  away. 


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